


Cupere

by honeysweetcutie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Smut, deals with consent, lust potion, topics of non-con, very smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 151,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysweetcutie/pseuds/honeysweetcutie
Summary: [PUTTING BACK UP SINCE SOMEONE HAS PLAGIARISED MY WORK]to long for; to desireIt’s Eighth Year and Draco Malfoy is just trying to graduate. Valentine’s Day is today and the last thing he wants to do is think about someone he’ll never deserve. When someone slips Granger an Ancient Roman lust potion, he punches a Seventh Year in the face, finds out she’s quite responsive, gains forgiveness, and discovers that he really should pursue a career in Potions. Not necessarily in that order.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madrose_writing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrose_writing/gifts).



> This is only being put back up because I have been forced due to teenagers stealing my work.  
> Cupere was written by me.

**I do not give permission for this fanfic to be PDFed or downloaded to be typesetted, bound, or printed in any way, shape, or form.**

* * *

**This is a story about healing for sad panda Draco.**

**This story is dedicated to my beta and amazing friend, mayghaen17. She is my sun, my moon, my shining STAR of an alpha. Without her, this story (as well as all of my stories) would not be what they are.** **Everyone please go check out her stories, I cannot stress this enough! I was blessed with an alpha who can write me into a damn stupor! Please go read her stuff and leave her lots of reviews~**

**Want to connect with me and listen to the vibe playlist for this story? Honeysweetwriting dot com**

* * *

**Cupere**

_to long for; to desire_

**Chapter One**

_Songs of the Chapter: We Are Robots - VUKOVI_ and _We Good_ by _aftertheparty_

x

Draco Malfoy was used to wanting things.

He was used to wanting things and never being good enough to have them. He was used to seeing the things that he yearned for being given to other people, doled out like Christmas gifts as a reward for simply existing. He'd grown accustomed to the feeling of envy, to the feeling of coveting everything that everyone else possessed, and punishing them for it. He wore the envy like a suit around his heart, and cloaked it in arrogance so no one would be able to see how lonely he felt. The things he wanted seemed like gifts to him, but to everyone else, they were rights. Things they felt they deserved.

Draco had grown up wondering when he was going to get his gifts, but had grown to learn that the reason why the fates hadn't deigned to give him the things he wanted were because he simply didn't deserve them.

"The last thing you're going to want to do is put it in her drink, Poe. She'll sniff it out from the entrance of the Great Hall."

Draco looked up from his novel. His eyes darted back and forth between the two Seventh Year boys that were sitting on the couch adjacent to his armchair.

One leaned back with one leg curled underneath him, running his fingers through his shaggy brown hair in continuous motions. The other sat perched on the edge of the cushion with his fingers interwoven behind his head, which had been shaved clean of hair.

"Then, what? You put it in her food? Won't she taste it?" Poe, the one with the shorn head said. He looked amused.

"Yeah, but it's not the same. See, it's like Amortentia. In drinks, it's too noticeable. But in food, it blends together with the whole situation, and then it adds to the flavor."

Draco carded his fingers through his own hair, scraping the cheek-length platinum strands back. After pushing his readers back up the bridge of his nose, he attempted to return his focus to the book in his hand. He had survived over half of his Eighth Year by keeping his nose inside of books and out of other wizard's business. It had taken a full month for students to stop accosting him in the corridors, constantly trying to pick fights. He had no desire to rile anyone up over a harmless love potion the night before Valentine's Day.

"How'd you even _find_ the recipe for it, then, Richter?" Poe asked.

Richter's lips curved up into a smirk that only a Slytherin with way too many galleons in his Gringotts account could conjure up. "I didn't. I bought it off a bloke in Knockturn Alley when I went home for my gram's funeral."

"You spent your gram's funeral _shopping_?" Poe barked a laugh. "Why am I not surprised?"

Draco turned a page and shifted his position in the chair. He crossed his right ankle over his left. He remembered when he was younger, how flippant he'd been. He'd give anything to have a grandmother again. To have any sort of family besides a father in prison and a mother more focused on charitable donations than her own son.

Before everything got so fucked up.

Richter chuckled. "Funerals bore me. So I went to Knockturn Alley and wandered about for a little, and then stumbled upon a wizard selling potions. He said he had one that was perfect for Valentine's, and when I asked him what it could do, you won't believe what he said."

Draco glued his eyes to his book, but his ears remained open to the crackling fire in the hearth and whatever the boys were going to say next. They were in the Slytherin common room, but he knew that it wouldn't matter who walked in on the two younger wizards' conversation. Everyone knew to expect mischief from Poe, at the very least, and dodgy actions from Richter.

"What did he say?" came Poe's reply.

"It's called Cupere," Richter said, lowering his voice a couple of notches even though it was late in the evening. "It's a potion that is _supposedly_ from Ancient Rome. Roman wizards used it on witches to make it simpler to get what they wanted, if you catch what I'm saying."

"You said it's like Amortentia?"

"That's just what the wizard who sold it to me said. That, and he told me what the side effect is, and you're going to shit yourself when you hear it."

"What, mate?"

"Orgasms. A lot of 'em. Three drops of it in a witch's food, and she's got a bloody good twenty-four hours ahead of her. Once it kicks in, all you've got to do is touch her skin, and she'll be screaming like a banshee. It only works when men touch the witch, the bloke said, and it gains power as the day wears on. By nightfall, she'll be ready to throw herself off of the Astronomy Tower, or fuck both of us at the same time, whichever comes first."

Draco felt his heart racing a bit faster. He wrestled with himself for a moment. He could go to McGonagall. She was the only person at Hogwarts besides perhaps Granger and a couple of other Eighth Years who saw him as a human being. McGonagall would believe him.

One thing that Draco had always prided himself on, even during the war, was the fact that he'd been raised as a gentleman in a Pureblood wizarding household. Gentleman did not slip love potions to witches, and they certainly didn't slip potions that voided consent to them, either. This "Cupere" potion was little more than a bottled Imperius curse.

He hesitated and then turned a page. They'd have to be dense to slip that sort of potion to anyone. It sounded illegal, and post-war wizarding Britain didn't take dark magic lightly. Using a potion like that could result in expulsion or arrest. Being a Slytherin, Draco could understand if they had a personal stake in the usage of it, but there were much easier ways of asking after a witch.

Draco understood doing illegal things when they were harmless, but Cupere was not harmless.

He also understood that they were talking about this in the vicinity of him because everyone in the entire school thought he was a dark wizard. Even though he kept his Dark Mark heavily glamoured, he caught people staring at his arm multiple times per week. Poe and Richter were no different. Their families hadn't fought in the war, but they'd made their chosen side clear when they donated to the Dark Lord's regime. Both boys likely thought that Draco would condone their sinister plan.

It sickened him.

Poe said, "So we just tip the vial over her food, and then what?"

"We watch her make a complete idiot of herself. A prude like her, in the good graces of the Headmistress, walking around with her nose in the air like she's the best witch since Morgan Le Fay? I don't think so." Richter snorted. "The little Mudblood's about to get what's coming to her. Watching her squirm in class, coming every five seconds because some bloke accidentally touches her hand? It'll be worth _every_ galleon the potion cost."

Draco's increased heartbeat stilled. He wasn't reading any longer. He drummed his fingertips along the top of the pages. He knew exactly who they were talking about.

"She's probably never had a good fuck in her entire life, the filthy golem," Poe said, and Draco heard the sneer in his voice. "And just for the record, I'm not fucking her, if that's what you're wanting it to come to. I'd rather not sully the line."

"Then you can hold her down while I do it." Richter sounded beside himself with glee. "Tomorrow's likely going to be the first Valentine's Day for Granger with a wizard paying attention to her, with that _hair_. But hey, if she wanted to keep the attention off of her, she should have thought about that before she gave us a month's worth of detention."

"I know that's right." Poe huffed. "The Golden Girl won't be so golden by tomorrow night, now will she?"

"If we wake up early enough, we can get there before her," Richter said. "She always sits in the same spot. It's Valentine's tomorrow, so she'll just think someone set her plate out for her."

"Like a secret admirer?"

"Yeah," Richter said, "and then we slip the potion in, maybe leave some conjured flowers to cover up the motions, so it looks like a Valentine's gift."

Draco contemplated the risks of hurling his book down, drawing his wand, and casting Unforgivables. He wondered if Azkaban was nice at this time of the year, and if they'd let him bring a blanket if his crime was based on defending a witch's honour.

Granger was a fucking saint. She and Potter were the only reason why he was at Hogwarts and not in a cell. Without their help, the Wizengamot never would have granted him parole. Over Draco's dead body, were they drugging her.

He was a Slytherin, and Slytherins - the right sort - were fiercely protective of the people who did them favors. Granger did him _more_ than a favor. She gave him a gift he didn't deserve: his freedom.

No, he wasn't going to McGonagall. He was dealing with this himself.

As he started to close his book, a low fire beginning to smolder in the depths of his chest, a chill settled over him. What was he thinking? He couldn't _crucio_ two Seventh Years in the common room. He didn't want to go to Azkaban after everything that had been done to keep him out of it. He would need to find another way to deal with this.

If he went to bed now, he could wake up early, too. Then, he could go down to the Great Hall and plant himself at the Gryffindor table, hopefully before these two snakes did. He'd sit right next to where Granger sat, even though it would cause a consternation. The Gryffindors would likely try to hex him, but it was worth it. He'd never make amends for the past and they couldn't seem to go five seconds without bickering whenever they were partnered in Charms, but he wasn't letting Richter _rape_ her.

If he tried, on Salazar, Draco _would_ be going to Azkaban.

Draco closed his book with casual hands. He stood up, tucking the book underneath his arm. Richter and Poe's gazes snapped to him when he did, and Draco stared at them for a moment.

He was an ex-Death Eater, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten how to cast the Cruciatus curse.

"Gentleman," he said in a cold voice.

"Malfoy," Richter said while Poe offered Draco a curt nod. "Care to put in any input?"

Draco shook his head. If he was going to stay ahead of this, he needed to pretend he had no interest.

"No. Have a pleasant evening."

With fluid movements, Draco turned and crossed the stone floor, headed for the special dorm room the professors had managed to charm into the dungeons. He fought the urge to turn back around to handle the situation the Muggle way, muttering the password to the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. It swung open and he stepped into the small room that led to Pansy and Theo's doors.

Draco knew one was probably in the other's room and while he was happy for their bliss, he wished Theo was available so he could discuss this situation with him. Not that they "discussed" things related to Granger. As far as everyone knew, Draco still hated her. No one knew that things had changed for him. No one knew that the moment she walked into that courtroom to speak on his behalf, was the moment he stopped hating her and started hating himself.

It took a lot less energy to want to tear himself into pieces, than it did thinking of insults to hurl at her just to keep her at arm's length.

It wasn't long after the beginning of the school year that he started noticing things about her that he hadn't noticed before. That her hair had gotten so long that the curls relaxed themselves against the small of her back, soft and shining golden brown when they caught the light the right way. That when she smiled, it made her honey-colored eyes sparkle like stars were reflecting from within them, and her teeth were near-perfect. She was bossy and swotty, but he found that it didn't bother him as much as it used to. Oh, he still snarked at her, and they argued like no one's business, but he did it out of adoration, not cruelty.

He was fairly certain she knew none of this, however, and he had no plans to tell her. He fancied her, yes, but he wasn't interested in anyone finding that out. In all the years he'd been going to Hogwarts, he'd made sure everyone knew he was the one you went to for a quick fuck, and that was it. Not that he cared much for portraying an image. He simply didn't want information leaking out that he had any sort of weaknesses. He didn't know why, he just didn't want anyone to know.

He couldn't think of anything worse than Granger storming up to him and telling him she wouldn't fancy him if he were the last wizard on Earth, even if he wouldn't be surprised if she did.

As Draco closed himself inside of his room, he felt the familiar twisting in his gut that he felt whenever he thought of Granger. His self-hatred reared up to mingle with his lust. He'd just heard Richter and Poe planning something awful, and Draco had possessed the gall to feel aroused by the thought of her.

He felt disgusted with himself.

What would a witch like her want to do with a wizard like him? She was the brightest witch of their age, and she'd saved the wizarding world from a madman with a demon's will. Draco was just the poor sap who'd been given the impossible choice between failure and death. Draco had nothing to offer anyone except for the horrible things he'd done during the war - things he couldn't escape the nightmares of.

But as usual, his disdain for himself was not enough to quell the raging fire that burned through his body that night. As he removed the pieces of his suit, folded them neatly, and set them atop his dresser, he felt his resolve faltering.

He wanted her and since he would never have her, he was left to pine.

Later, when he lay in the darkness on his back, he conjured up the mental image of Hermione Granger telling him he was worth something.

He didn't get to sleep until the moon had started its descent.

* * *

He knew the second that his eyelids cracked open that he'd slept through his wand alarm.

"Fuck," he cursed, rolling onto his side and pressing the heel of his palm to his brow. "Fuckin' shite."

Another reason why he was a terrible person.

This could still be salvaged. Looking at the grandfather clock in the corner of his dorm room, he saw that breakfast had only just begun. There was a slim chance the boys had lost their nerve. If they hadn't, perhaps Granger hadn't made it to the Great Hall yet. If he hurried, he might make it in time to go through with his plan to sit down beside her.

 _Circe, I'm gonna look barmy as Hell,_ he thought as he scrambled to his bathroom to brush his teeth. _Sitting next to Granger? At the table?_

As each second went by, he felt his panic growing. He couldn't do that, he couldn't sit next to her at the Gryffindor table and act like they were even acquaintances. The outrage that would sweep through the Gryffindors would be more than he could handle, and Granger would not be kind to him.

During their last Charms class, they'd argued so badly over the "right" way to cast the mirror conjuration charm that she'd snapped her quill in half. He'd covered up his anxiety with a sneer, but he was so sure that she hated him that he'd almost considered dropping Charms altogether. If he sat down at the Gryffindor table, she might just dump her plate onto his head.

Draco tried to catch his breath, his lungs squeezing in on themselves. He was going to have to rethink everything. His original plan was defunct. What if the boys were just talking? Draco remembered being a boy, sitting in the common room, making "plans" with Crabbe and Goyle for how to "ruin" Potter and his friends. "Plans" that had never come to be. What if Richter and Poe never went through with their plan? How foolish would Draco look, sitting at the table for absolutely _no_ reason whatsoever?

He set his toothbrush down. Instead, he would sit at the Slytherin table, like normal, and just watch her. Then, if she showed any signs of having been drugged, he would either go to McGonagall, hex the bollocks off of both Richter and Poe, or take Granger to Professor Slughorn for an antidote.

He'd just have to ensure that he carefully avoided touching her bare skin.

After a mild panic fit, Draco took a long look at himself in the mirror. His platinum blonde hair, which was trimmed short on the sides but long up top, fell forward into his eyes, and he had stubble that was a few days old. His silver eyes blinked back at him with the sort of exhaustion that always assailed him after one of his fits, and he stared at his chest. The mottled scar that bisected his flesh was the only thing that disgusted him more than his past choices.

Running his fingers along it, he suppressed the revolted shudder that wanted to ripple through his body. Sometimes, it terrified him how much he despised himself and the way that he looked. It got overwhelming.

Turning away, Draco went to get dressed. He put on a pair of black trousers and a white long-sleeved Oxford, choosing to wear a black vest instead of a blazer that day. He was finishing up his tie when a knock came at his door. As he always did, he bottled up his destructive emotions and masked them behind a smirk.

"Theo," Draco greeted, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. "Shouldn't you be wooing your strumpet?"

Theo, whose wavy brown hair was pushed away from his face, returned Draco's expression. "It's Valentine's Day, not our anniversary, tosser. She can manage breakfast without me. Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Draco said, and then he went back into his dorm to retrieve his satchel and wand.

"No robes today?" Theo asked as they walked to breakfast.

"Nah," Draco said. "I hate those sodding things. I'm too tall for mine."

"Why didn't you just go buy some? Hell, you could walk to Hogsmeade right now if you wanted to!"

"And walk outside in the snow and cold? My perfect alabaster skin, Theo. Please."

Theo threw his head back and laughed. "Fuck me, if I forget how precious your complexion is."

As they stepped onto the moving staircase upward, Draco sensed Theo's mood changing. The two of them leaned against the banister side-by-side, and Draco slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers to mask the way his hands were trembling.

"Heard from your parents, then?"

Draco looked blankly at the walls and other staircases full of students. "No. They don't write much."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure your mum's got you on the mind."

"Mm."

There was a bit of an awkward silence that stretched between them, which Draco knew was entirely his fault, and then he reached up to rub the back of his neck as though it needed a massage.

"How's your da?"

Theo shrugged up at him. "Same as yours, I s'pose. Azkaban doesn't have varied cells, mate."

 _Stupid,_ Draco thought, admonishing himself.

"Yeah," he said instead. "Thought I'd ask."

It was difficult speaking with Theo. They were still friends and had been since they were in their nappies, but things were so different since the war ended. The trials had taken the entire Summer, and Draco had been held on strict house arrest at the Manor by himself for three months straight. No owls, no Floo, no contact with anyone.

To top that off, Theo had only picked the wrong side. Draco was the one who took the Mark. Draco was the one who attended the Dark Lord's Revels. Draco was the one who'd felt Voldemort slithering through his mind, filling it with poison. He felt like he couldn't talk to anyone about anything anymore. None of them understood what it was like to have nightmares that felt so real that he could feel the Dark Lord's _crucio_ tearing his flesh as if it were real.

Draco hadn't had any real mates since Sixth Year, and he'd come to terms with it.

* * *

"I'm off to sit with Pansy," Theo said in the Great Hall. "I'll see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts, mate. Cheers!"

Theo traipsed off to join Pansy at the far end of the Slytherin table with some Seventh Year girls, leaning down to give her a quick peck on the cheek. Draco watched him sit, and then he looked at Richter and Poe, who were sitting near the middle of the table. They were talking to one another, but they didn't look more or less suspicious than they usually looked.

Draco's eyes bounced about, taking in the Valentine's decorations that were strewn about all over the place. There were glittering, non-corporeal hearts raining down from the ceiling, confetti hearts decorating the tables, and each table had bright pink and red place settings. It smelled faintly of sugar.

He shook his head. No doubt Head Girl Granger had a hand in this. She'd been going mental for the past two weeks planning the Seventh and Eighth Years' combined Valentine's Day party, and the Great Hall was no exception to her maniacal interior decorating.

His gaze landed on her for a moment, lingering. She was standing, talking to Luna Lovegood in the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables, and she didn't look to have sat down to eat yet. She was dressed differently today, festive in a pastel pink dress that flattered her body in a way that caused the tips of Draco's ears to turn pink. It was made of chiffon, had long sleeves and a tight bodice, and a flowing skirt that stopped just above her knees. Her shoes were simple, sensible one-inch pumps, and her waist-length curls were pulled back with gold clips at her temples.

Draco nearly tripped, stopping in the crowded entryway to stare openly.

She said something to Luna, smiling one of those smiles that made her eyes glitter. She let out a laugh that he heard ringing out like a melody over the sounds of students conversing, turning to sit down to eat. She tucked into a plate that was either already there, or that she had made before talking to Luna. Draco watched her eat even as students around him for blocking the doorway, and he wondered why it had taken him so fucking long to realize how stunning she was.

And then Draco remembered the reason why he was so anxious that morning, and he felt queasy.

He was a complete and total _idjit_. He was such a fucking _git_.

She'd already eaten the food.

 _Fuck_! Draco thought, full of anger at himself. _I suppose I'll just have to watch closely. If she shows any signs, I'll decide what to do then._

Just more reasons why he was an absolute rubbish person.

Draco watched Granger while he ate, sneaking surreptitious glances at her to see if there was any change in her disposition. He alternated between eyeing her and casting quick glances down to Richter and Poe, trying to see if they were watching her, too. As far as he could see, Granger was carrying on as normal, chatting in an amiable fashion with Seamus Finnegan and a few Sixth Years. Richter and Poe were barely even sparing her a second glance, and they left the Great Hall before Draco was even finished eating his eggs benedict.

Right at the end of breakfast, she dropped her fork onto the floor and he stiffened. Did it _mean_ something?

He waited with bated breath, eggs poised halfway to his mouth, while she held up a finger to her friends. She leaned down to the side, to retrieve the fork, her hand pressing to the table. Then, she sat back up. As she did, Draco saw her the side of her palm brush against Finnegan's.

Draco gulped.

But nothing happened. She just smiled and continued to speak.

 _Maybe . . . Maybe they were just talking out of their arses? Maybe they didn't slip her anything after all_?

Draco certainly hoped so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Songs of the Chapter: Can You Just Shut Up - Audrey Mika_ and _Transformer - Donna Missal_

x

It started in Charms.

Flitwick was adamant that everyone learn how to conjure up a piece of fruit by the end of the period, so he partnered everyone up at the tables. He was still just as odd as ever, even after the war. It was difficult for Draco to reconcile this stout, eccentric little wizard with the one he'd seen eviscerating the bowels of four werewolves at the Battle of Hogwarts. As the wizard began wandering about, assigning students to one another, the fates must have been watching closely, because Draco was partnered with Granger.

He felt terrible for simply watching her eat the food when it might have been essentially poisoned, so he was amenable to this partnership if only for the opportunity to do something to help if it went sideways. He knew it was strange that he cared so much when he'd spent so many years being a royal arsehole, but his experiences during the war destroyed him and left him a shattered mess on the ground.

When he returned to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year, it was not as a powerful dragon with flames in his maw and razor-sharp teeth; it was as a chastised dog with his tail between his legs. He was a Slytherin, not a monster. He could want to help Granger without having an ulterior motive, couldn't he?

Draco set aside his anxieties and put on his smirk, trying to bury all of his focus into figuring out whether or not the boys had slipped her the Cupere.

"Granger," he drawled as he dropped his satchel on the floor beside the seat. He dragged the chair out and sat down in it, resting one elbow on the table. He propped his chin in his hand and made a show of dragging his eyes down the length of her body. "Nice dress."

She glared at him. "I've learned your compliments usually come with the back of your hand, Malfoy."

"And I don't even charge for it," he said. "Isn't that generous of me? That's more than I can say for my father."

"Your mother is rather generous, so perhaps you got your philanthropic ways from her." Granger pursed her lips, like she was trying to hide a smile, which he'd never seen her do in his presence. "Thank you for the generosity of your back-handed compliment, Malfoy. What do you hate about my dress? The fact that it's Muggle, or the fact that I bought it at a thrift store?"

"A what?" Draco combed his hair back. He had no idea what a thrift store was, and he didn't care that it was inexpensive; he thought the dress was fantastic. But he wasn't about to say that out loud.

"It's a . . ." She sighed and looked directly at him. His heart squeezed and he averted his eyes. "A store where people drop their used clothing off and then other people can come and buy those items for lower prices."

Draco nodded, willing himself not to blush at the feeling of her gaze falling upon him so heavily. His compliment, contrary to her belief, was not meant to be double-sided. He truly felt it was a nice dress. "It was more about the fact that it's a nice dress, but now I find myself caught off-guard by your incessant need to showcase your swotty ways at all times. Tell me, were you waiting to tell me about some useless Muggle thing? Or were you just waiting to have an excuse to talk to me?"

She rolled her eyes, her curled eyelashes seeming extra dark today as she immediately started practicing the spell. Draco watched her perform the incantation three times, failing each attempt. He arched one eyebrow, chin still on his palm.

"Having trouble?"

"Shut up," she snapped, and then she patted the side of her hair as though it were frizzing. "I'm doing everything correctly. I must not be pronouncing it right."

Granger tried the incantation again, her voice faltering. She stopped for a moment, a confused expression crossing her face. She patted her hair again, this time on the back and other side as well. He saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips.

Draco's body reacted on instinct, his stomach flipping over itself. Trying his best to ignore it, he just watched her. Around them, their classmates were trying and succeeding at conjuring various types of fruit. But Hermione Granger was, surprisingly, behind.

"I'm not sure what I'm . . . What I'm doing _wrong_." Her voice sounded breathless, like she was dashing across the room while trying to talk. "Perhaps it's the way I'm f-flicking my wand . . . ?"

Draco said nothing, his eyes glued to her as her hand came up to touch her hair again. Her fingers slid down the length of one long curl, twirling it slowly around her finger again and again. She opened her mouth to speak, but only made an incredulous laughing sound, and then began to draw the end of the curl along the dip of her collarbones. Guilt swallowed Draco whole as her chest began to heave and his eyes zeroed in on her neckline.

His free hand, which was resting on his thigh, tingled with the desire to reach out and take the curl out of her hand. He wanted to see how soft her hair really was.

But at the same time, he hated himself even more for it. If she was being affected by the Cupere right now, he needed to figure out how to turn off his attraction to her.

He just didn't know how.

"Not the swot you pretend to be, are you?"

She shot him a scathing look and then her hand shot up into the air. Flitwick bustled over with a smile and a spring to his step.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor, I was . . ." She trailed off, her brows twitching together as she let go of the curl. "I wanted . . . Well, you see, I seem to have lost my - my train of _thought_ , I . . ."

She squirmed in her seat a bit - just the tiniest amount - and she frowned at the air in front of her. Flitwick looked just as confused, and Draco tried not to grimace. Granger wasn't usually this inarticulate.

Flitwick eyed her. "That's quite all right. Perhaps think on it for a moment, and then call me back over?"

She gave him a faint smile and a weak nod, and then he toddled off to help Neville Longbottom and his unfortunate Seventh Year partner. Somehow, Longbottom had managed to conjure up an entire cat, and the cat was currently trying to claw his eyes out.

Draco sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched Granger try the spell again.

"This is so frustrating," she said underneath her breath.

"Have you tried _not_ pretending you're already good at it?" Draco picked a piece of lint off of the breast pocket of his vest.

Granger tossed her curls over her shoulder and glowered at him. "Hm. I suppose I'm not surprised."

"Swots rarely feel fleeting emotions such as surprise, Granger. Though I'm certain you already knew that."

Granger gripped her wand tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her deep-set eyes blazed at him from under straight, dark brows. "I'm only thinking it pertinent to mention that it's not _surprising_ to see that even on Valentine's, you're still a _prat_."

"Just as your swot balks for nothing, my prat bows to no man."

She scowled, sounding exasperated. "Not a romantic wizard? Also unsurprising."

"Don't make assumptions," Draco said, staring at the cat that had been tearing at Neville's throat now sitting calmly on the table in front of his partner. "Romance is for a different sort of wizard."

She made another attempt at the spell and, to Draco's surprise, an apple core appeared in midair. It hovered for a moment while she held her wand to it, a gasp of excitement leaving her lips. Then, it vanished and her facial expression fell.

"Well," she huffed, shifting in her seat again. "For once, you, Malfoy, are right about something. Romance is for a different sort of wizard. And you just don't seem like the sort."

"I'm not," He felt his hackles rising. He knew they had a past and that he deserved what she was saying, but he was and always had been sensitive.

"I know." She twirled her wand and performed the charm again. This time, she couldn't even get the core to materialize. "Bollocks."

Draco gritted his teeth, his pride still wounded, and he unfolded his arms from his chest. He turned in his seat, placing one arm on the table. "I'm not a romantic wizard because romance is slow and sweet, and I'm neither slow nor sweet, _Granger_."

She stared at him, looking prim. "Oh, I'm aware. You've always made it painfully clear how arrogant and selfish you are. I can't see you bringing a witch flowers and taking her to dinner."

Draco vibrated with ire. "Why not?"

"What?" She laughed, sounding incredulous.

"Why not?" He clenched his fist on the table and waved his other hand. "Since you know so much about me, I'd like to hear your theories about why I'm not romantic."

She stared at him, scrutiny coloring her eyes darker, and Draco knew he was being too forward. But the juxtaposition between hating himself and wanting to be a normal person for once was exhausting him. He was barely handling being thought of as an ex-Death Eater who deserved to rot underneath six feet of dirt, knowing that the only reason why he hadn't killed or hurt anyone during the final battle was because he was a bloody coward. He didn't like hearing the amount of disdain in her voice for him when he struggled daily with thinking he wasn't good enough for breathing _air,_ let alone breathing the same air as her.

When she spoke, he felt her words cutting him like knives.

"I think you're unromantic because romance is external. It doesn't serve you. It serves the other person, and you're not the type of wizard who likes to serve. You seem like the type of wizard who likes your witch to serve _you_." Granger gave him a once-over. "And you've always been quite vocal about how much Pureblood traditions matter to you. I'm guessing you prefer your wife to sit and look pretty, and then lie down on her back at night? You hate Valentine's Day because you can't stand the thought of even one day being dedicated to anyone that isn't you. No doubt something else you learned from your father."

 _Wrong. She's so fucking wrong. She doesn't even know me. She doesn't know . . ._ His thoughts trailed off, because her opinion of him was based upon who he presented himself to be. She didn't know who he really was - no one did - because he'd done such a great job at wearing a fool's disguise for so long. As for her opinion on his father, _no one_ knew who his father really was.

But she didn't seem to care about who the Malfoy men might really be. She'd spoken for Draco at his trial, but that didn't mean she thought he was a good person.

And he wasn't a good person. He was rubbish. But he still had a heart.

An arrow of rage speared through him and he twisted to face her. The suddenness of his movement caused her to jolt and her eyes to snap up to his. He grabbed the back of her chair, yanking it closer an inch. It didn't scrape as loudly as he'd feared it would, and he was grateful for that.

"The reason why I hate Valentine's Day is because it provides an excuse for shitty wizards to make up for 364 days' worth of dropping the Snitch where their witch is concerned," Draco hissed, his hand tightening its grip. He felt the heat of her back against the knuckle of his thumb, his thumbnail pushing through her thick curls. He barely registered the fact that the dress had a low back and her skin was millimeters away from his finger. All he would need to do was lift his thumb, tilt his hand towards her back, and he'd brush against her bare skin.

"M-Malfoy," she breathed, her eyes searching his with mingling alarm and confusion.

"My _father_ taught me that a wizard - a _man_ should spend every day he's alive worshipping every inch of his witch. A man's witch gets flowers whenever she wants. She gets chocolates whenever she wants. She gets fucked whenever and wherever she wants. She doesn't have to wait for an arbitrary day in the middle of February to feel like she matters. Even from prison, my father arranges for flowers and gifts to arrive periodically throughout the week and he sends my mother love letters every other day. I got many things from Lucius Malfoy, but disrespect was not one of them. Fuck Valentine's Day, and fuck romance."

He leaned closer, baring his teeth in a slight snarl. "If you think Valentine's Day is special, it's because your wizard is a _boy_ and not a _man_. If you were my witch, you'd have flowers for waking up and breathing. You'd have chocolate because you deserve it. And I'd _worship_ your body, Granger. So no, I'm not bloody _romantic_."

Her jaw dropped. She was, it would seem, speechless. He knew he should have leaned back, moved away before any other students noticed their close proximity, but he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. He couldn't fathom it. His hand shifted, his thumb pushing deeper into her curls, and the pad of it brushed the tiniest bit of her skin above the backline of the dress.

And then, where Draco had fully prepared himself for a retort that signified yet another bickering spat between them, she disappointed. Instead, she did something completely different. Something that made his stomach toss and turn and his blood boil. Something that proved that he was a git for watching her eat her breakfast just because she was pretty.

She whimpered.

Richter and Poe had followed through with their dastardly plan, and the potion was kicking in.

Draco jerked himself backward, pulling his hand away from the chair. He pushed his hair back to hide the trembling in his fingers and he sat up straighter.

"So stop making assumptions," he muttered and then he pulled his wand out of the inside of his vest. Without much effort, he performed the incantation.

A ripe, nearly-perfect apple appeared on the table.

They spent the rest of the class period in silence. She continued to fail at the charm, but she kept her frustrations to herself. Draco sat with his hands and forearms on the table, fidgeting with the apple he'd conjured.

Draco was mortified at his outburst, as it felt more like the "old" Malfoy. For all his efforts at not being who he used to be, it was difficult when he was around Granger. She liked to poke and prod at him, as though she enjoyed bickering with him. And he always rose to the occasion.

For all of Lucius's shortcomings as a father, he was not a bad husband. Draco wished more people knew that about him.

* * *

Second period Defense Against the Dark Arts class went as uneventfully as it usually did.

Bill Weasley was the professor, which was odd for Draco. It was strange to be taught by the Weaselbee's older brother and see the same bright red hair and freckles that he'd grown accustomed to over the years, but with none of the vehemence shining within them. With the Weaselbee gallivanting all over the country as an Auror, however, it wasn't awful being around the one Weasley who seemed to "get" Draco. Like McGonagall, Professor Weasley saw Draco as a human being. They also had something in common.

Professor Weasley and Draco had both had the displeasure of meeting Fenrir Greyback.

"The importance of the Reservoir spell is to enable yourself to always have an extra reserve of magic on hand should you run into a sticky situation involving dark magic, or other unsavory things," Professor Weasley said as he paced down the aisle between the classroom's tables. His shoulder-length crimson hair was pulled back at the base of his head, and there was a bit of a smirk playing about his lips that always seemed to appear whenever he was teaching a spell he particularly fancied. The man was unashamed of the scar that marred the skin above and below his eye.

Draco wished he could be that confident about his own scar.

"The correct pronunciation of the incantation is _alveus_ ," the professor said, and then he lifted his wand and twirled it. "The motion is in the hand, not the wrist. Light, circular movement. Say it back to me. _Alveus_."

" _Alveus_ ," the class chanted back at the teacher, save for Draco. He never spoke aloud in class if he could help it.

Professor Weasley then proceeded to call individual volunteers up to demonstrate the pronunciation of the spell as well as the wand motions. Draco found himself gazing out the window at the distant Quidditch Pitch, the tops of the hoops and stands dusted lightly with snow. He liked Professor Weasley, but he did not find himself fond of DADA.

After growing up with a family lineage chock full of dark wizards, a library stuffed to the brim with dark texts of varying levels of evil, and experiencing the horror of living with the Dark Lord, this class was difficult for him. Professor Weasley also understood this, and largely left him to daydream and zone out, offering him plenty of leniency when it came to assignments.

Before the war, Draco might have despised him for his charity. But now, Draco just wanted to go to classes, pass his N.E.W.T.s, and go home.

Theo took several tries to demonstrate his performance of the Reservoir spell, drawing Draco's attention to his nervous laughter at the front of the room. He smiled to himself at his friend's antics, and then his eyes slid to the table directly across the aisle and one up from his. Richter and Poe had this class with him, and they were actively participating along with the class. It bothered Draco because two wizards who looked so normal were in fact wicked.

Draco was having a difficult time with the knowledge that Granger was off in class somewhere, dosed with a lust potion from Ancient Rome. The culprits were just sitting here in DADA, innocently laughing along with everyone else. On the one hand, being who he was, he understood that they had acted out of vengeance for her giving them detention and being an otherwise insufferable know-it-all. However on the other hand, he would never understand why there would ever be a reason or an excuse to drug a witch in the hopes of forcing her to sleep with you. It made him feel sick.

This was somewhat his fault, when he really stopped to think about it. He stared down at the table until it blurred, forlorn and full of remorse. He should never have allowed himself to get distracted. He should have set aside his fear, strolled up to her table, and done something - _anything_ \- to keep her from eating the drugged food.

He sat forward in his seat, leaning on the table with folded arms. He glared at the side of Richter's still-laughing head.

Richter was repulsive. The thought of him having his way with Granger, of trapping her and hurting her. Of Poe being involved, the two of them . . . He clenched his teeth as anger started to roil within him again and he closed his eyes for a moment.

Draco wondered about the properties of the Cupere potion. Did it cause deliriousness and a loss of faculties, like Amortentia did? Would she stumble around drunkenly and be placed in the Infirmary anyway? Would she be seeking male contact, or was it just a heightened awareness of the men around her? In their Charms class, she'd seemed confused at the onset of the potion's effects, but when they left the room, he saw her walking normally and conversing with Longbottom while she held his new cat.

Perhaps he didn't have to go to McGonagall just yet? What if . . . What if the reason why she'd seemed fine in the corridor was because she _wasn't_ poisoned? What if Richter and Poe had merely been talking out of their arses? After the war, wizards were a lot less likely to act out in illegal ways. But then if that were true, if she wasn't drugged, then . . . Why did she whimper?

Was it because . . . He turned her on with the things he'd said?

He felt heat rushing up to his cheeks and he turned his face to look down at the table. His hair fell forward, shielding his eyes. There was no way. He'd been angry, just speaking his mind. For her to be turned on by something _he_ said, was absurd. It was . . . He knew how to turn witches on, and it usually didn't involve . . . Well, Granger. And talking to her. Growling at her, really.

Yet, if it wasn't that and she _was_ drugged, then she didn't have much time before she would need to be taken to the Infirmary. Amortentia was fast-acting, and Draco had no clue what the incubation period for Cupere was.

Draco realized then, that he had a chance to make the right decision. Right here. Right now. He'd spent a lot of time making the wrong ones and he wanted his life to be different. There was no reason for him to violate his parole and go to Azkaban for picking a fight with the two if it wasn't necessary.

Whether Granger was drugged or not, he was going to McGonagall after class and telling her that Richter was in possession of a potent lust potion, and that he and Poe had openly discussed using it on Granger. Then, he would go back to pining after her from afar, but without having to worry for her safety.

Towards the end of class, Professor Weasley clapped his hands for everyone's attention.

"Soon, Headmistress McGonagall will be coming in to make a small announcement before lunch, so I'd like everyone to sit tight for a moment before they start packing up. As for homework, I have none for you this weekend. I just want you to have a wonderful Valentine's Day."

Draco felt his nerves rattling. While he trusted McGonagall, he was still anxious. What if she didn't believe him? What if she thought he was lying or pulling a stunt? Worse, what if she got the horrid idea that it was _Draco's_ potion, and he was trying to cover his tracks by placing the blame elsewhere?

He struggled for breath for a moment. He supposed he could go to Professor Weasley. Granger had gone out with - or might still be going out with - the Weaselbee. Weasley might believe him without much need for convincing. Though Draco had never really _spoken_ to Weasley privately before. It might be too nerve wracking, too anxiety-inducing.

No, his best option was McGonagall. She would know what to do.

Before he could think on it further, the door opened and a pair of heels _click-clack_ ed their way into the room.

"Hello, everyone!" came a melodic, yet matter-of-fact tone. "Good afternoon, Bi - Professor Weasley!'

Granger.

She walked down the center aisle of the room, her hips swaying and curls bouncing. She strolled to the front of the room with a purpose and turned on her heel to face everyone. She grinned up at Weasley and greeted him as though she were a professor, too.

Draco sunk down in his seat as her eyes swept the room, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He felt like if she looked into his eyes, she would know what he'd been thinking about. Looking across the room at her, she didn't look any different than normal. Amortentia typically turned the victim's eyes a different color, but her eyes were still honey-brown.

"Not that I'm disappointed to see you, Hermione," Weasley said, putting his hands behind his back, "but I thought Headmistress McGonagall was to be addressing the class?"

"Miner - Headmistress McGonagall had a family emergency, I'm afraid," Granger said, the corners of her lips turning down for a moment. "She had to Floo out for the rest of the day, and won't be returning until the morning. She has left Professor Sprout in charge of the school, but she asked me to go to all the classes this period in her place."

Weasley nodded and then waved his hand for her to take the floor.

"Right," she said with a nod, tucking her long hair behind her ears. As Gryffindor as ever, she smiled out at the class with no fear in her eyes. She always had excelled at everything in school, even speaking in front of classes. "So, first of all, happy Valentine's Day! I just wanted to come and make an announcement about the Valentine's Day party. For the Seventh and Eighth Year students, it will be combined and held in the Room of Requirement this year. It's tonight after Astronomy finishes up, since I know a lot of us have that class, we figured it was better to hold it then. There will be lots of food, dancing, games, and of course, sweets. So please do come!"

 _Well, shite,_ Draco thought. _There goes my plan to go to McGonagall. Now what?_

While Granger had been speaking, Draco watched as Richter and Poe both leaned in to hold a whispered conversation. Poe smirked and nudged Richter; Richter chuckled and said something else to him. The professor was asking Granger how to locate the room - which was also known as the Come and Go Room, so he didn't catch their whispering, and Draco worried.

When all was said and done, everyone started gathering their things up to go. Granger said her goodbyes to Professor Weasley, wished him a good lunch, and then headed back down the aisle. With a faint smile on her face, she looked completely normal. Draco bit his lower lip as he stood up, slinging the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. Perhaps he could walk with her to try and see if -

"Hey, Granger."

Draco heard the mischievous note in Richter's tone, and he knew. He just _knew_.

Icy-cold horror gripped him and held his feet to the floor as he watched it happen almost in slow motion.

Granger stopped beside Richter's seat, her hands loose at her sides as she regarded him warily. She nodded to him, waiting to see what he had to say, and then he rose to his feet. He wasn't as tall as Draco was, but he still towered over the petite witch even in her heeled shoes. Her head tilted back to accommodate the change in height.

"You have hair in your face," Richter said, and his smirk was demonic.

He reached up. Granger's brows knitted together. Her eyes followed the movement of Richter's fingers.

Draco side-stepped his chair and started around the table. He pushed an anxious hand through his messy blonde locks. He wanted to smack Richter's hand away from her. His heart leapt.

She was going to be mortified.

Draco was three steps away when Richter's fingers brushed her cheekbone to brush aside hair that was never there in the first place.

_Fuck._

Granger's eyelids fluttered and she let out a small cry. She pitched forward, falling into Richter's gleeful, waiting arms, her hands gripping his biceps so tightly that Draco could see her knuckles were going white. Students were looking at her with concern. She had her face partially buried in Richter's blazer, and the side of it that Draco could see was bright red. Her gaze met his. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His mind ripped itself apart with memories.

" _Please! I didn't t-take it, we d-didn't, we -"_

Screaming. Horrible screaming. Screaming while her back arched and her head scraped the Drawing Room floor. While her eyes pleaded silently with him to _do_ something. While he just stood there. While he just stood there and did nothing.

And she was looking at him right now the same exact way.

A cold feeling settled over Draco, like adrenaline being kicked into overdrive, or like he was donning his Death Eater robes once again. Suddenly, he wasn't anxious anymore. He wasn't worried about the consequences. He didn't care that everyone was watching. He just moved.

Draco was at Granger's side in an instant, carefully taking her by the elbow and yanking her away from Richter. The two boys looked at one another, Richter appearing surprised as Draco pushed his face close to his.

Picking a fight had just become necessary.

"If you touch her again, I'll go right the fuck back to Azkaban," Draco snarled, his silver eyes smoldering with repressed rage. "I don't give a _fuck_."

Several audible gasps rose up. Richter looked like someone had just punched him in the gut. Professor Weasley asked what was going on. Granger said nothing, her face bright red and eyes cast downward as Draco dragged her in front of him and placed a hand on her lower back.

Draco's threatening glare never left Richter's face until he moved forward and walked Granger out of the room. Professor Weasley called after them, but Draco didn't bother to turn around. She didn't need to be forced to stand there and drown in her mortification, too.

Draco didn't stop their brisk pace as they moved down the crowded corridor, his anger helping him to ignore the shocked stares the two of them were getting. Granger's footsteps were stumbling and slow. If it weren't for his hands on her back and elbow, ushering her along, he feared she might have collapsed. Her face appeared ashen.

"Something is wrong with me," she said in a quiet voice.

He fought the urge to say he knew, because he didn't want to look more suspicious than he already did. If he said dodgy things, people - Granger - might think it was Draco who slipped her the Cupere.

An orgasm. Hermione had just had an _orgasm_ in front of a classroom full of people. He'd imagined what her facial expression might look like when she came thousands of times, but the fact that the only real image he'd have of it was now stained by the look of terror in her eyes. It was forced, therefore it was a violation.

The image didn't belong to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Songs of the Chapter: Change Your Heart - Audrey Mika_ and _Moment - Victoria Monet_

x

They rushed down the corridor.

When he saw the opening to a small inlet, Draco pulled Granger into it until they were swathed in shadows. The hallway was a nothing-hallway, with only an empty portrait and a door that led to nowhere.

Casting one last furtive glance over his shoulder, Draco turned back to look down at her.

"Are you all right?"

She blinked, her head pulling back on her shoulders as she stared at him. She said nothing.

He cleared his throat and spoke again. "The Golden Girl needing an ex-Death Eater to come and save her? That won't look good for your image."

But her confusion didn't fade. She looked down at the air between them, one hand smoothing her hair and the other pressing a light touch to her collarbone. Draco's eyes followed her movements for a second, and then he flicked his gaze back to her eyes. He kept his facial expression impassive, neither cold nor inquisitive.

"I think I might be unwell _,"_ Granger said. "I feel . . . Strange."

Draco gulped. "Perhaps you should go to the Infirmary. I'm not a Healer."

Granger's face contorted with irritation. She took a step away from him, her back hitting the wall. Draco saw her knees buckle and she pressed her hands back against the stone at her sides. A visible yet tiny shudder ran through her and she turned her face away.

Draco's jaw tightened. He tried not to feel anything at seeing her being affected by what had happened in the classroom. He watched her for a moment, watched her collecting herself. Before he could stop himself, a hint of his curiosity burst forth.

"You're as quiet as a mouse, aren't you?"

The words spilled from his mouth before he could catch them. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, balling them into fists where she couldn't see. Panic rolled through him as she seemed to hold her breath.

". . . _What_?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but he had no idea what to say. If he told her he meant she was quiet when she orgasmed, she'd know he knew what was wrong. And then she might think he had something to do with it. He needed to figure out a different way to tell her she'd been dosed, but he didn't know how to do it without bringing suspicion down upon himself. It didn't help that he'd jumped out of character by threatening Richter. He was likely going to have to deal with some vitriol from the Slytherin later.

Granger shook her head. "You know what? Never mind. I think I'll be fine. It may have been an accidental burst of magic."

Was she that inexperienced that she didn't know what had happened? That was dangerous. If a wizard touched her again that day, it was bound to happen again. Richter had stated that the potion gained potency as the twenty-four hour effects wore on. He blushed at the thought, and he hated himself for the simultaneous emotions of desire and self-hatred that drifted through him.

Not that Draco was trying to boast, but he was fairly experienced when it came to witches, and he had been since Fifth Year. He knew what he liked and what it felt like to orgasm, and if Granger didn't know, she didn't need her first times being all over the school, in front of students. The Cupere potion really was abhorrent, and the fact that Richter and Poe thought this was _okay_ was even more disgusting.

For a moment, his whirling thoughts paused and only one pushed itself to the forefront of his mind.

_When I get my hands on him, Richter's fucking dead._

"What was?" he asked, pressing her for more details.

She made a small noise that was a mixture between a squeak and a cough. "Nothing. No, n-nothing. I've got to go to lunch."

Draco, on reflex, grabbed her arm before she could pass by. Her sleeve was long, fortunately, so there were no adverse physical effects. He felt her stiffen under his hold. He tried not to be too sensitive about it. He was her childhood bully, after all, and they'd just had a bit of a row in Charms an hour ago.

She looked up at him with her eyebrows raised, appearing almost irritated.

"What, Malfoy?"

He had no idea what he was doing or what to even say. In retrospect, he realized he should not have grabbed her arm. He should have just let her walk away.

But standing here with the witch he fancied, looking down into her expectant face, he wanted to help her.

He just wanted her to be okay.

"It wasn't magic."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

His cheeks heated, and he was grateful for the darkness of the corridor. A storm of thoughts entered the sky of his mind.

Now that McGonagall was gone for the day, Draco wasn't sure what to do. He could go to Weasley, the only other teacher who didn't look at him with pure disdain, but he didn't know if that was a good idea. It seemed silly to worry about suspicion, but Draco was only out of prison by the good graces of a temperamental Minister Shacklebolt. One negative word from the Headmistress could be all it took for Shacklebolt to decide Draco was too untrustworthy. Draco didn't want to go to prison. He was terrified of it.

There was only one thing he could do, and that was just as terrifying.

He could spend the rest of the day with her and watch out for her honor. He could keep an eye out for Richter and Poe, for any accidental touches to her skin. It wouldn't be _too_ difficult to hover around her if he made it look like he was trying to be a nuisance.

But then again, did he really _have_ to act like a prat? He didn't _like_ acting like one around her. He just hated himself and felt like it would be selfish of him to suddenly act friendly towards her in the hopes of gaining her adoration. She was her own witch and he had no right to her heart after the way he'd treated her.

She did have a right to know what was in her body, though. She deserved to know what Richter had done.

It was a huge risk, but he knew it was the best chance he had at keeping her from any further embarrassment, from being taken advantage of, and from Richter and Poe. It was a risk, but he would take it for her. After everything - the bullying, the Manor, the war - he would take the risk for her.

"Malfoy, what do you _mean_?" Her voice sounded like it was shaking slightly, but she would probably never admit it.

"It wasn't magic." He breathed the words, his eyes finding hers in the dimness. He waited and when she didn't interrupt him - when she just blinked up at him from underneath all that hair - he spoke. "It was a lust potion."

Silence stretched between them.

"You . . . You _drugged_ me?"

Her insinuation, her mistrust, stung, even though he knew he had no right to feel that way. He knew suspicion would always fall to him.

Anxious and rattled, he carded his fingers through his hair.

"No. Elias Richter and William Poe did." His voice was quiet, meek, but he tried to keep his emotions in check. He drew upon his skills in Occlumency - which he hadn't needed in months - to protect not only her from seeing what he felt, but himself from feeling it all. "They discussed it in the Slytherin common room last evening."

The silence was so fucking thick. His heartbeat stuttered as he watched her, his gaze drinking in her expressions as they flitted across her face. Bemusion, horror, anger, fear, and finally, disgust.

"I don't believe you. They're . . . They're _kids_ , they . . ."

Draco sneered. "They're seventeen. We're eighteen now. I did horrible things for the Dark Lord when I was sixteen. You saved the world when you were seventeen. Age means nothing. You're intelligent, Granger; you know those two are dodgy."

She leaned back against the wall, her hands scrubbing down her face. She looked like she'd been kicked in the teeth, like she'd never experienced anything worse than this. And he wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't experienced anything worse. Fighting in a war, hunting for Horcruxes like the _Prophet_ said she'd done in their Seventh Year . . . Even Draco knew that paled in comparison to having the control of your body taken away.

The Dark Lord had been particularly frivolous with his Legilimency and the Imperius curse, so Draco knew what it was like to lose control of your body and be forced to do things you didn't want to do. Voldemort had a fascination with the sight of blood welling up, and there were scars on Draco's body that could attest to that.

"What - What is it?"

"An ancestor to Amortentia." Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "From Ancient Rome. It's called Cupere."

She frowned, her eyes darting about as she rubbed the back of her neck beneath her hair. "It sounds faintly . . . Familiar. What does it do?"

Draco hesitated, feeling uncomfortable. He reinforced his Occlusion with steel and determination. This was difficult, but it was necessary. Whether she was experienced or not, she deserved to know.

"If a male wizard touches your bare skin, you'll have an orgasm, to put it bluntly," he said in a flat voice. He fortified his walls further, separating himself from the wild anxiety in his chest. "And that's why Richter did that in class. He was trying to humiliate you."

Her eyes widened in stages as his words sunk in and planted their seeds. Panic grew from the soil of her disposition and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"So I . . . In the . . . In front of _everyone_?"

Draco clenched his jaw, feeling a muscle working in it. He ground out, "Yes."

She shook her head in disbelief and then inhaled sharply. She looked up at him. "And that's why you - you took me - you helped me -"

"Yes," he said, cutting her off. If it weren't for his Occlusion, he knew his cheeks would be as hot as coals.

The silence returned, and she patted her face with both hands. Over and over, as though she were trying to wake herself from a dream.

"Was that your . . . ?" He stopped and peered down at her. "Was that your first one?"

Her eyes went wide again and she said nothing. Draco, feeling his curiosity overruling his anxiety, took a step toward her.

"How did you not know what it was?"

"It's not my first one!" she practically screeched. Her hands fisted by her thighs. "It wasn't. I was just rationalizing it, trying to find a logical reason behind why I felt that way. I was -"

Then, she stopped mid-sentence and her facial expression darkened. In that moment, Draco felt his heart sink even from behind his walls.

She didn't believe him.

"You're foul."

He staggered back, bewilderment painting itself on his face. " _Me?_ I'm not the one who -"

"You're just trying to - to _cover up_ -"

Draco couldn't help it. His back snapped straight and he loomed over her with rage-filled eyes. "You may think I'm scum, but I would _never_ do that to you, Granger."

"How am I supposed to know what you would do to me?! How am I supposed to know that your views on blood purity have changed?"

"Salazar's fucking beard, witch, you spoke at my _trial_! You -"

"Because you didn't deserve prison for being a product of your environment, and because you didn't identify us to your aunt!" Granger cried. "As far as I was concerned, when I walked in there, you still thought I was just a - what did you always call me? A _filthy little -"_

Draco wanted to scream. He didn't want to hear his sins hurled back at him. They were like _confringo_ s to the heart.

"I didn't _fucking_ drug you, Granger! Of all the things I've done - of _all_ the mistakes I've made - I would end my life if I did that to someone." _Especially to you._

"How was I supposed to know that you had a heart of gold underneath your snakeskin disguise?!"

Draco's eyes flashed in the shadows. "You don't know me. Don't presume to think the worst of me just because it's easier to muster up hatred than forgiveness."

"You've never asked for my forgiveness," she said, angry embers burning in her eyes.

Like sick made of words, a secret burst forth with a slice of his hand through the air.

"Because I don't deserve it!"

He'd been advancing on her in the narrow corridor, and she'd been stumbling away slowly, one hand trailing along the wall. Her expression was wary, even as he shouted at her, and he saw her eyes dipping down to his chest and back up. She wet her lips, her brow furrowing slightly.

Warning bells rang.

Seething, Draco stopped two feet away from her.

"It's going to get worse," he hissed in warning. "Richter said it gets stronger as the hours wear on."

"Does it . . . Does it take away my faculties? Will I lose control of myself, or is it externalized?" She sounded frightened, but like she was trying to hide it behind a makeshift wall of curiosity.

"I'm not sure. I think . . . Right now, you seem lucid. Do you feel _not_ lucid?"

"I feel lucid. I feel lucid, but I . . ." She trailed off. He saw her eyes dart to scan his face, lingering briefly on his jawline. Her gaze moved to the wall across from them. "It has an effect of increased attraction, but I don't feel like it's forcing me to do anything. At least, not yet."

Draco swallowed, feeling his blood heat again. He added even more magic to his Occlusion, hoping to make it impenetrable. "So . . . Is it telling you to want or to need?"

His breath caught on the words.

She paused and then whispered, "Both. It's like . . . A volcanic chamber. I can feel the magic swelling, but there's a barrier. Like it can just swell and swell, but there's nowhere for it to go. If I had to choose, I'd say it's a need."

Draco couldn't believe they were having this conversation. Hermione bloody Granger was telling him that essentially, the Cupere made her horny as Hell, but she still had her wits about her. For now. He could see why the potion was illegal. It revoked consent in that it took away the body's ability to process lust and desire normally. It made the need outweigh the process of calculating the ratio of risk to reward.

It was absolutely disgusting.

"When did they discuss that they were going to . . . Do this to me?"

"Last night." He put one hand on his hip and rubbed the stubble on his jaw with the other hand. "They said they were going to slip it into your food at breakfast. I tried to wake up before them, but I . . ."

He trailed off, realizing that he was admitting to, in some sense, trying to spare her or - or to protect her. She was looking at him with a strange expression, her gaze carving a path from his hair to his nose to his jaw to his pulse. He felt his stomach twist again, causing the self-hatred to rear up once more.

Draco would give anything to have her look at him this way when she was _not_ on a lust potion, and he hated himself for wanting that right now.

"So you've known for quite a bit of time, and haven't said anything. Even in Charms, you said nothing."

His anger snapped to attention. "I was going to go to McGonagall, but -"

"But what?" Her voice sounded shrill.

Draco stared at her for a long moment, ire heaving in his chest. Then, something nagged at him.

Was she looking at him with _betrayal_ in her eyes?

A chill ran down his spine, interwoven with suspicion. He narrowed his eyes.

"You blame me for this."

Guilt soured her expression, but she stayed silent. His chest hurt.

He felt betrayed, too, and neither of them had any right to feel betrayal of the other. Neither of them had any right, because they were nothing. They weren't friends. They were nothing.

"You blame me for this," he went on, "and you're brassed off because you've convinced yourself not that there's good in me, but that if there _were_ good in me, I would have said something sooner."

For a moment, she glowered up at him like an angry child, and then he saw it. Like a damn breaking, or glass shattering, the strong person she presented crumbled and failed. This was something she had no knowledge of and when faced with it, she was lost. She took one shaky, panicked breath.

"I don't know what to . . ." She wrapped her arms around herself as she began muttering underneath her breath. "I've never dealt with this before. I don't know what to _do_. What if they try something . . . What if they . . . Oh, _Gods_."

She turned away, facing the opening of the corridor and ducking her head down. Draco felt enraged when he thought about the repulsive things Poe and Richter had discussed in regards to the plans they had for her.

They weren't setting foot near her, and she wasn't going anywhere alone for the rest of the day. Even if there was no good in him, he could use the darkness he carried _for_ good.

He could protect her.

"I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you, Granger," he said, taking one resolute step toward her. He pushed back his emotional pain. She was the one who'd been drugged and essentially assaulted. He'd given her no reason not to feel like there was no good in him. "Least of all Elias Richter."

She didn't reply. Her fingers curled tightly around the hem of her dress. He could see her bare legs trembling. He was quick to avert his gaze from them.

"We should go to a professor," Draco said.

"No," she said, eyes a bit crazed as she looked up at him. "It's humiliating enough, and I'm still Head Girl. Everyone is counting on me for the Valentine's Day party. Plus, there's a mini exam in Astronomy this evening, remember?

Draco pressed his lips together in a line. "You're putting _school_ first? Shouldn't you, as a Gryffindor, put the _rules_ first? What Richter and Poe did is illegal."

"I skived off my entire Seventh Year, Malfoy," she said, sneering at him. "Rules mean nothing to me anymore. Doing the right thing for myself is what matters to me."

"How is it right to suffer, sit on this information, and let them have even _one_ day of leniency?"

"Because I don't want everyone knowing something like this while it's currently happening!"

"That makes no sense. You want to just wait until it passes, and let them get away with it? They might have some of the potion left!"

"They won't get away with it." She dropped her arms from around herself, glaring down at the floor. "I will go to McGonagall tomorrow when she returns. I - Wait." She paused. "Why are you helping me?"

Draco, who had begun to let his walls down, slammed them back up. He told part of the truth. "I'm a Pureblood wizard and I'm a gentleman. I may be a prat most of the time and a git the rest, but any man who thinks he has a right to a witch's body is my business."

She stared at him for a long time.

"How am I supposed to know you're telling the truth?" she finally asked. He could hear the Gryffindor strength in her voice threatening to concede defeat to her fear.

"I don't know how to prove myself to you," he said, pushing his hair back once more as the impromptu honesty shook him. "I've never had to prove myself to anyone other than the Dark Lord, and he was the end of me. He was bad."

"And me?"

"You?"

She nodded once, her hand pushing a curl behind her ear. Draco tried not to look at her cheek as it was revealed, tried not to think about touching it.

"You're good," he said in a quiet tone, his emotions barred behind the iron walls of Occlusion. "And I don't know how to prove myself to someone good."

There was another stretch of silence as her gaze dropped to his lips. Draco wished it wasn't because of the potion, but he knew better. Whether he himself was good or bad, his past - who he was - made him undeserving of anything good. It made him undeserving of her.

Suddenly, she turned her face away. "This is an extremely elaborate lie. It's quite possibly the cruelest thing you've ever done to me, Malfoy."

"I'm _not_ lying," he growled. The betrayal burned more ferociously than before. He'd just been more honest with her than he'd ever been with anyone his entire life. He felt like she'd cast _incendio_ on his heart. "I didn't do this to you."

"What if nothing was done?" Her voice was frantic as she leaned back against the wall, her hands cupping her cheeks. "You could be lying, or I could be ill, or imagining it. What if it's not _real_?"

Draco stepped closer. "Why would you think it's not?"

"Sometimes I see things that aren't real," she breathed out.

He moved until he was in front of her. "What sort of things?"

"My nightmares. Monsters. Your aunt." She squeezed her eyes shut. " _Him_."

A flash of yellow eyes. A snake's tongue. The hiss of Nagini.

Draco's walls shuddered and nearly fell. He lifted his hand, wanting to reach for her. Instead, he combed it through his hair and held it against the back of his neck. He felt his desire for her, for someone to understand him overwhelming him.

He took the final step toward her. There was one hair's breadth between them. He held his breath. She didn't lift her gaze higher than his jumping throat. The look in her eyes seemed half-ravenous. He knew that he shouldn't be standing this close to her, shouldn't be allowing himself to be weak.

But this was the first time he felt like he wasn't alone since he was a child. To pull himself away seemed agonizing.

Draco gripped his neck tighter and whispered to her.

"I see them, too."

She inhaled and he felt her chest brush against his. A jolt of electricity ran through him and he froze. His heart was pounding and his walls were failing. She parted her lips.

"Malfoy, I can . . ." She let out a small noise and then he saw her hands lifting. He tracked their movements as she pulled them back to rest against her abdomen. "I can feel it getting stronger."

His tie felt like it was too tight.

"It's real, Granger," he murmured, drinking in the sight of her face in the shadows. "Richter did this. I may have treated you like shite when we were younger, but I've never lied to you. I'm not lying about this. We need to go to a professor and see about an antidote."

She closed her eyes again. Her lower lip trembled for a second. "I don't know much about Cupere, but I do know that potion antidotes were not a concept in Ancient Rome. The first potion that had an antidote was Sleeping Draught, and that was in the 1100's. If this potion is real - if this is really happening - I have no choice but to wait it out. So going to a professor now will be useless. I would just be stuck in the Infirmary on calming potions until it wore off."

Draco exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine. But tomorrow, we go to McGonagall and report Richter and Poe. Until then, I can . . . Stick near you. I can make sure no one touches you."

She worried her lower lip between her teeth. When she opened her eyes, they seemed clearer. He almost took a step back.

"I need to know for sure."

". . . What do you mean?" His blood chilled.

"Malfoy," she said. "I told you. It's getting stronger. The more it swells - the feeling inside of me - the more confused I feel. The less lucid."

Her fingers were wrapped around the hem of her skirt again. She was starting to inch it upward.

His hands shot down to wrap around her forearms and he moved closer, his body pressing hers into the wall to keep her from moving. If she lifted herself onto the tips of her toes and any part of her face touched his neck . . .

Her eyelids fluttered and her mouth snapped shut to stifle a sound.

"Can you -" He lost his voice for a moment. "Can you feel it through the fabric?"

She looked like she was in pain and she tried to twist in his grip. "It's like a - I don't know, I don't - I can't exp - Malfoy. _Malfoy_."

 _Fucking Hell,_ he thought. _Is she losing lucidity?_

Draco stiffened when her head fell forward, her forehead hitting his shoulder, and she began to nuzzle her nose against his chest. She let out a soft breath, one that went straight to his lower body, and he nearly lost control of himself right there. He tightened his hold on her arms.

"Granger," he said, his voice strangled. "I can't -"

"Just touch me," she begged, her voice muffled against his vest. "Just once. Maybe it - Maybe it's like a well. Maybe it recedes with each . . . One."

The hairs on his body stood at attention. His stomach churned like a stormy sea. He felt weak, with her body pressed to his. He could feel her hips squirming, like she was trying to break free or press herself even closer.

_I can't believe this is happening._

"Granger . . ."

She rolled her hips and her lips mouthed at his tie. He felt his entire body thrumming with eight months of repressed feelings. He barely held in a groan, trying to retain at least some semblance of control on his sensibilities as his resolve began to dissipate.

"Granger, _stop_ ," he growled, trying to fortify his voice with as much command as he could.

She trembled, but she did as he asked, keeping her face buried in his chest.

"Are you _sure_ that you're lucid?"

"Yes," she said, her voice coming out in a whine.

"I won't do anything without your consent." The last word came out as though it had tripped over itself.

"I consent. I do, I . . ." She took a shuddering breath and squeaked, "It's just a touch."

Draco felt himself sliding down a hill from which there was no return. If he did this for her - if he purposefully touched her skin while she was on this potion - then there would forever be this moment linking them together.

And he would hate himself even more.

"Please," she whispered, and Draco nearly moaned at the sound of that word leaving her lips, directed towards him. He dropped his face to the top of her head, his fingers twitching on her arms. He felt her hips moving again and she whined. It was a noise he had only dreamt of hearing from her. "Please, I keep . . . Keep p-pressing my thighs together."

 _Oh, fuck_ , he thought, and then he was hurtling down the hill towards a chasm at the bottom.

It was just a touch.

"If I . . ." He spoke into her hair, which smelled of apples and sugar. His heart was racing. His mind had gone to a place of sin. "If I let go of your arms . . . You've got to promise not to move. All right?"

"I promise, just . . ." She moved her face into his chest, nuzzling him again. "I promise."

He let go of her arms with a slowness that ached in his loins. His hands went to her waist. It felt like his palms and fingers had burst into flame.

She stayed still, but her ribcage expanded. He felt like their hearts were beating in tandem. He waited for a moment, contemplating. Risks and rewards. Did either of those things matter when her consent was dubious?

Did this make him as evil as the Dark Lord?

"Malfoy, I can't - It's too _much_."

Suddenly, Granger's hands moved up and her hips writhed again, her legs shifting.

Panic bloomed in his chest. He wasn't ready yet. He tried to climb back up the hill and get some control back.

"Don't touch me," Draco hissed, his head jerking away from hers. His body pushed her even tighter to the wall, until she gasped for breath. " _Never_ touch me. Wait."

She made a sound of dismay and he saw her hands clenching into fists near his biceps. She shuddered, then buried her face against his chest again.

Without thinking, his relief spoke for him.

"Good girl. Just - good. That's good."

Something in the air began to breathe, swirling to life. Everything started to click into place. He couldn't seem to find a reason not to just . . . Do it. Whenever he tried, it felt like the thought just slipped from his fingers. It was just a touch. Just a touch.

But Salazar, if he didn't want to slit Richter's throat and drown Poe in his blood for putting them both in this position.

"Please," Granger whimpered, her hips rolling again. She chanted the word. The more she did, the less control he was able to maintain. And when she began to nearly sob it, he was done for.

He snapped.

"Look at me, Granger. Keep your eyes on me."

Her head fell back, lolling against the wall, and she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. She was still begging him in a tiny, whining voice. She rolled her hips again. He thought he might lose his mind.

He threw himself back down the hill and fell gladly into the chasm.

"Come for me," he whispered, his eyes smoldering with a low, intense fire as he curled his fingers around the soft skin of her chin. He gripped it tightly, knowing exactly what it was going to do to her.

Granger cried out, her brows knitting together on her forehead. Her face took on an exquisite, pained expression that Draco could feel etching itself into his memory immediately. Her entire body froze, as though hanging on a wire, and then she convulsed against the hard planes of his torso. She sobbed in intense pleasure as whatever magic was in the potion exploded within her. The fingers of one hand dug into the fabric of his shirt; the other kneaded at the shoulder of his vest like a cat as her sobs subsided into moans.

Her eyes never left his.

 _Not a fucking mouse at all,_ he thought, searching her face with near-desperation. He didn't notice that she was touching him. He wanted to memorize her facial expression. He needed to have it imprinted upon his memory just in case this was the last time she ever let him near her. He would let the self-hatred have him later.

There was another second that went by as she came down that Draco found he could not look away from her lips. They were plumper than normal. When the tip of her tongue darted out to touch first the top one and then the bottom one, his throat went dry.

Her return to reality happened in separate steps, like she was trying to put herself back together after falling apart. First, she uncurled her fist from his sleeve. Then, she moved her other hand away from his shoulder and used it to pull her wand out. Draco felt a flush rising up his chest beneath his shirt when she whispered a drying spell, his fingers twitching where they still held her waist.

_Do not think about why she would need a drying spell. Do not think about why -_

She put her wand away as though she were doing something as banal as household chores. Smoothing out her hair, she took a deep, shaking breath and averted her gaze.

"Let go of me, Malfoy. Please."

He'd made a mistake. He'd known she wasn't interested in him, so why had he spoken to her the way he had? He shouldn't have been so . . . Personal. He was complete, utter trash for speaking to her like that.

"I'm sorry," he said, words tumbling out and his voice high-pitched. "I'm sorry. I just - I -"

She lifted her eyes to his and he saw that they were filled with tears.

His heart jolted and he hauled himself back from her. He hit the opposite wall and they stared at each other for a long moment. He had no idea what she was going to say. Cupere aside, even though he had barely touched her, it felt like they'd just fucked. He'd even told her to come for him, just for him, as if she was his witch.

She would never be his witch. Pretending she was in that moment had been selfish.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and Draco felt like it burned him. He wanted to catch it on his knuckle and wipe it away.

She turned to go.

"Wait," he said, standing up straight. He smoothed his hair back. "Are you sure that was what you wanted?"

"I consented," she said, her back to him. "But I didn't want any of this."

"Did I hurt you?"

She hung her head, shaking it.

"Should I go to McGo-"

"Please don't tell anyone."

Then, before he could make another move, she walked away. He heard her let out a sob as she rounded the corner. Draco's chest pulsed with despair and anger. He'd gotten swept up, carried away, when he should have put his foot down and gone to a professor in the first place. Now, it was too late. Maybe if he was a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff. But he was a Slytherin, and someone he felt loyal to had asked him not to tell anyone.

He was such a coward.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Songs of the Chapter: Graveyard (acoustic version) - Halsey,_ _Share the Sunshine Young Blood - Emarosa,_ _Mad at Me - Kiana Lede, and_ _Attack of Panic - Aly & AJ_

x

Draco thought about Granger during his History of Magic class.

He'd followed her after she left, sitting in the Great Hall by himself at the end of the Slytherin table. She didn't spare him a look, which he felt like a blow to the stomach. She seemed to be carrying on amiably with her mates, so he wondered how she was coping with the potion's effects. She couldn't possibly be better, so was it still growing worse? Or staying the same?

When she finished lunch and got up to go, she looked at him on her way out. He froze, feeling like she was thieving him of his breath.

Once she left, he waited five seconds and then followed her all the way to her class. He'd said he would keep an eye on her, so that's what he was going to do. She looked over her shoulder as she prepared to enter her Muggle Studies classroom. When she witnessed him leaning against the wall, her brow furrowed. He just watched her until she went inside.

Later, in his own class, the professor droned on at the front of the room about things he couldn't be arsed to care about at the moment. It was all he could do not to leave the classroom prematurely and go back to his dorm. He kept his arms folded on the table in front of him, his head resting on them as he closed his eyes and tried not to succumb to a panicking fit in front of everyone.

He couldn't believe what had happened between him and Granger, nor what he had done to her. He hated the fact that it had only happened because of an ancient lust potion, and he hated how it made him feel. He was just as disgusting as Richter and Poe were, if not more so. He'd already despised himself so much before this, and now?

He wasn't really sure why he was breathing.

Draco wished he knew for certain whether or not her consent was valid. He wished he understood whether her tears were about him or the situation. He wished he would have woken up on time. He wished he hadn't stood there and watched her sit down to eat without jumping forward to stop her.

He wondered if he could _obliviate_ himself later, when the potion was out of her system. He didn't deserve to keep the memory of their conversation. He didn't deserve to know what it felt like to be the one to do that to her. Even if it was just the potion that caused the feelings, it was _his_ hand on her chin. _His_ command that directly preceded her body's reaction. _His_ eyes looking into her own as she came. It would be one thing if it was someone she liked, but _him_?

After class, he walked down the corridor alongside an unusually chatty Theo, who had witnessed the entire debacle between Richter and Draco. They were headed to meet up with Pansy and walk to Hogsmeade. Next period was a study period for all three of them, and they often went to town to wander about. Theo had been trying to get Draco to explain what happened at the end of DADA, and Draco was hanging on his last thread.

"Did you have a _fit_ , I mean . . . ? It's _Granger_." Theo snorted. "Richter's not the only one who likes to mess about with her."

Draco was tired of hearing about it. He hadn't stopped asking him since the start of class. "And?"

Theo gave him a sidelong glance. _"And_ you hate her."

Draco gritted his teeth. He wanted to feel indignant, but he knew that was foolish. Theo - as well as the entire school - believed Draco hated Granger because of the person he'd presented himself to be. He'd bullied her in the open, in front of numerous witnesses, for years. Him suddenly turning 180 degrees and defending her openly in DADA class was bound to cause waves among the student body.

"Just come off it, mate," he muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

"But -"

"Look, Nott." Draco halted in the hallway, forcing Theo to have to skid to a stop and do an about-face. "I'm not interested in talking about it. Granger and I may not be friends, but she's still a witch, and I'm still a gentleman."

"Have you gone completely barmy? He hardly touched her! He just moved her _hair_ out of her face."

Draco couldn't tell him about the potion. He couldn't tell anyone. Not unless Granger gave him permission. He was already a terrible person in her eyes. He didn't want to give her another reason not to trust him.

"You don't . . ." Draco sighed and held up both of his hands. "You don't get it. Whether he was moving her hair out of her face, or grabbing her, it's her body. A witch's body belongs to her. I'd do it for anyone."

"No, you wouldn't." Theo sneered, looking incredulous. "You're Draco Malfoy. You're pompous. You're selfish and cruel. Goyle told me that in Second Year, you said you hoped she'd die."

Draco bristled and clenched his hand around the strap. "That was Second Year. I was _twelve."_

Theo threw a hand up and then put it on his hip. "And you were sixteen when you let Death Eaters into the castle. What of it?"

Draco forced himself to remember he'd asked for this. It would never stop. It was his fault. His past behavior was why this was happening. That was why he didn't deserve her.

He felt like he deserved to go to Azkaban.

"Just leave it," Draco hissed through his teeth.

Theo peered up at him, eyes narrowed. "You fancy her, don't you?"

 _Get out of here,_ Draco thought to himself as panic threatened to overwhelm him. _Get out of here now._

"I think I'll skip Hogsmeade tonight," Draco said, Occluding as a form of automatic response. He viewed his friend - someone he was no longer sure if he could trust - through cold eyes. "Have a pleasant rest of your day."

He turned to go back the way they came, headed for the Library instead. Peace and quiet was what he needed. Peace and quiet so he could sit and self-destruct in silence.

"Come on, Draco!" Theo called after him. "Can you blame me? Just come back and talk to me!"

"Fuck off!" Draco called back, his anger nearly erupting. He continued to walk, his shoes snapping against the stone.

"I just didn't _know_! All that time, your hatred was just a farce. A way to hide what you really felt. Draco. _Draco_!" His voice got fainter as Draco got further away. " _It wasn't your fault_!"

Aunt Bella's high-pitched laughter echoed in his head. He heard Granger's screams again, as though he were walking through a waking dream.

Draco furrowed his brow and sped up his pace. No one understood. Theo, Pansy, any of his friends that had chosen not to return to Hogwarts for Eighth Year . . . None of them understood him.

He wasn't sure he was worth understanding.

* * *

This was just like in Sixth Year.

Worse, even.

Draco felt like he was being pulled under an angry sea, held just beneath the surface where he would be forced to drown inches away from the fresh air. He just wanted to be able to breathe, but not he worried he might never breathe oxygen again.

In the Library, Draco went as far back as he could, sitting on the floor behind the last stack on the right side of the room. He leaned his back against the castle wall, sliding down until his rump hit the floor. He lifted his knees and rested his elbows atop them, tangling his fingers in his hair. He took several deep, shuddering breaths.

Ever since the war ended, he'd been barely hanging on by a thread. His father in prison, not answering any of his letters, had ruined him. It had taken four unanswered letters before Draco realized Lucius harbored ill will toward him. The man that he'd idolized and looked up to all of his life wanted nothing to do with him. Even though Draco had just been trying to survive, Lucius felt that he'd failed him. He was blaming the Dark Lord's death on him - blaming his imprisonment on his son.

Minister Shacklebolt had asked Draco to speak on behalf of his father at Lucius's trial and at first, he'd agreed. In the end, loyalty won out, and Draco declined to say anything on the stand. But the look of revulsion his father had given him was tantamount to having his heart ripped out of his chest. His father, the man he'd been so proud of for his entire life. His hero.

Draco had just wanted to do the right thing for once. Dumbledore told him that he'd been given impossible choices, and this was just another one. He was only trying to make the right one. Rose-tinted glasses aside, Draco saw what a monster his father was. Blood purism, beating the House Elves, casting Unforgivables for the Dark Lord . . . He belonged behind bars.

Draco's interaction with Granger in the corridor - the conversation that preceded the incident . . . That was the most honest he'd been since June. It was the first time he'd felt _alive_. Like he could focus on someone he cared about without the pressure of anyone finding out. Like he actually had the power to help.

It was just too bad the sort of help she needed made him feel like a fiend.

"Hello, Malfoy."

Draco lifted his head.

Granger stood there with a satchel of her own hanging off of her shoulder, holding a spare bit of folded parchment in her hands. She tapped her fingers against it in an absentminded motion as her honey-brown eyes scanned his face. It unsettled him sometimes, how bold Gryffindors could be. He couldn't look her in the eyes without hearing her moans in his ears, without seeing the way they had glazed over. All with just the barest brush of his fingers to her skin. Yet here she stood, looking right at him as if it had never happened.

He'd been selfish. He'd tried to control it, to control her. As though she were his. As though any part of her intimacy belonged to him.

He averted his eyes to the books beside her head, right at the edge of the shelf. Keeping his elbows on his knees, he combed through the soft strands of his hair to anchor himself to a calm place.

"How did you find me?" he mumbled. "No one knows I'm here."

She stared at him for a long moment, seeming to decide something. "I have a map. It's Harry's. It showed me where you were."

Draco nodded, and then paused. That seemed . . . Classified. Like a secret. One that if he held, he would want to keep it to himself. His fingers slipped from his hair and he peered up at her where she stood.

"Why are you telling _me_ about it?"

She was next to look away. She relaxed one hip, the movement causing the fabric of her skirt to flutter and the ends of her curls to swing. "I want things to be honest between us."

His heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

He could still see the blush staining the apples of her cheeks. She didn't say anything.

Silence. It gave him anxiety and filled his veins with panic and ice.

Draco waved his hands slightly with frustration. "I asked you a fucking question, Granger!"

She jumped at his tone, her eyes widening, and nearly dropped the parchment.

"Because I'd rather be honest if we're going to . . ." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I don't know why, but when I think about going through the rest of the day with this - this well of magic inside of me, it feels overwhelming. We're over halfway through the year, and I can't afford to have even one day go to waste. Astronomy is important if I'm going to . . . It's just important."

Draco tried to follow her train of thought, slowly drawing on his Occlusion just in case he needed to get the walls up in a short amount of time. "If you're going to do what?"

She opened her mouth for a moment and then her eyes locked with his. "If I'm going to try to become an Unspeakable, I need to pass Astronomy and get an O. For the potential for inter-dimensional travel."

Draco stared back at her for what felt like ages as shocked rocked him. She'd just told him a piece of personal information.

His facial expression softened a bit. "What do we need honesty for, exactly?"

She shifted, relaxing her other hip. Her fingers tapped against the parchment again and she bit her lip. Draco tried not to look at the action, not wanting to put too much energy behind the twisting feeling that always wove through his gut around her.

"I've decided . . ." She drew her shoulders back, turned her nose up, and pressed her lips into a firm line. Just like that, Draco was looking at Hermione Granger, Golden Girl of Gryffindor, not the mousy, not-a-mouse witch who'd clung to him in the corridor. "I've decided that I want to ask you to assist me throughout the duration of the potion's effects. I feel mortified whenever I think about telling anyone else, and you're already involved. You also seem to be adamant as to your abhorrence of the situation. It's clear that you detest the fact that a lust potion was administered without consent. And I . . ."

Draco arched one eyebrow. "And you what, Granger?"

"I felt . . . Safe with you." Her voice had lowered several octaves.

Draco looked at her through his lashes, but she was staring at the parchment in her hands. He felt like he was going to faint.

"I'm a logical person," she said. "I understand that lust potions are sometimes used, and I understand the functions of the human body. I also understand how vindictive wicked men can be when a woman sleights them. Since I gave them detention and took points from them, I have a feeling that's why Richter and Poe dosed me. I'm prepared to accept the adverse effects and deal with it tomorrow when Miner - Headmistress McGonagall returns to Hogwarts."

Draco caught the fact that she'd almost said the Headmistress' first name, reminding him of her status in the public. She was a damn-near celebrity. And she was asking Draco Malfoy, the infamous parolee and ex-Death Eater who let Death Eaters and an alpha werewolf into a castle full of children and teenagers, to help her get through being dosed with a twenty-four-hour lust potion?

This was surreal.

"So you want me to . . ." He fingered a lock of his platinum hair and focused his gaze on her nose so he wouldn't have to look her directly in the eyes. ". . . To do what?"

"Help me. I want you to help me with - with this. Like I said, it's a well. It refills after it empties, only there's no overflow. My body is the barrier, and it feels like I'll explode if - if the well isn't emptied again." She pulled a grimace. "And you said it's designed to strengthen as time wears on. I've already started to feel it beginning again."

Draco's heart stuttered and his eyes narrowed a smidgen. That meant that she was here to . . . His thoughts whited out.

"Already?"

She nodded and then lifted her arm to check a silver wristwatch that she had wrapped around her left wrist. "It's been about fifteen minutes since after-lunch classes ended. I'd estimate it's been . . . Close to one hour and forty minutes since the second one."

"How long was between the first one and the second?"

"About forty-five minutes. But after we . . . After we parted post-the second one, I felt it building up again. The magic, I mean."

She wasn't saying it, but Draco knew.

_She's aroused._

"Salazar's beard," he cursed, turning his face to the left for a moment. He then ducked his head down and covered it with his arms. "This is fucked."

"Just be honest. If you don't want to, I suppose I can . . . Sneak off." Her voice sounded weak. Draco could tell she was either holding something back or terrified of him making her choose that option. Or both.

"And there's no one else who can help you?" He sneered, glowering at the spines of the books on the lowest shelf. "I know Potty and the Red Weasel are off waiting for you in Aurorland, but isn't there some poor sap who worships the ground you walk on? Longbottom? Finnegan?"

She glared back at him, tucking the parchment under her arm so she could cross her arms over her chest. "I'd rather not have to share this experience with them."

"And you'd rather share it with me? Why?" His sneer deepened and his eyes blazed up at her. "Because lust potions are born of _dark_ magic, and you think I'm a _dark_ wizard?"

She frowned, but the intensity of her glare had diminished. "I don't think you're a dark wizard. I never thought that. If I did, I certainly wouldn't have spoken for you. I think you -"

"You think I'm what?" He threaded a note of warning into his voice, to let her know what sort of territory she was treading on.

Draco could take being ostracized by the wizarding world. He could stomach his friends not understanding him. What he couldn't handle was Granger telling him she thought the worst of him.

He already knew she did. He just didn't want to hear about it.

Her expression was one of disapproval. Perhaps it was defeat. He couldn't tell which.

"I think you've changed," she said in a decisive tone. "And while I don't exactly trust you, I do trust that you're a different person than you were before. I wish I would have gotten a chance to know you back then, so that we could have been friends."

He breathed a mirthless laugh, trying not to dwell on her last sentence. "What makes you think that who I am now is the type of person who would help you? The type of person who wouldn't take advantage?"

Her throat jumped as she swallowed. "I don't think you would."

"How do you know?" he challenged, his brows rising. He felt his heart racing, pounding against his breastbone, but he didn't falter.

 _I would never fucking hurt you,_ he wanted to say. _This isn't how I'd want to experience this sort of thing with you._

"You know what? I don't." She shrugged. "I _don't_ know. But what I do know is that you weren't cruel or forceful in the corridor. You asked for my consent. That's all I need to be able to make the decision."

"So what are you proposing?" His palms were clammy. "And don't mince your words, witch."

The decisive tone returned, but he saw her gaze turning wary. She took a step closer. He knew if he let his gaze dart downward, he would be able to look at her legs. It felt wrong, especially under the circumstances.

"I'm proposing you help me get through the rest of the day. When the - the _magic_ gets to be too much, we can steal away to somewhere and cast a silencing spell. Then, you can touch my hand, or something. You can keep an eye out to ensure no one is around. When I'm - when it's _done_ , we go back to whatever we were doing until it needs to happen again."

"All night?"

"Well, at least until after the Valentine's Day party." She pushed her curls back, carding her fingers through them in a way that tousled her hair to one side of her head. The disheveled look, the dress, the mental image of her voice pleading with him desperately.

Draco closed his eyes. She had it all planned out, didn't she?

"Malfoy?" she said when he didn't speak for too long. "What do you say? Be honest."

He ran his hands down his face, two seconds away from laughing. "Granger, you're asking me to handle this as if I'm a Healer. As though it's clinical. Just a brush of the skin three or four times, and then we're on our way."

She huffed a breath again. The parchment she was carrying disappeared into the messenger bag. "Never mind. It's all right. I shouldn't have asked. I'll manage on my own."

Draco clenched his fists.

She didn't get it.

He let his hands fall to his sides on the floor and stretched one leg out. "Stop for a moment, and think of what you're asking me to do. I need a fucking second to process, yeah? What you're asking me to do is barmy."

She gave him a sour look, folding her arms over her chest. Then, the look fell.

"I'm not opposed to begging."

Draco's eyes snapped to hers. He resisted the urge to tell her that he remembered. It was, after all, less than two hours ago that she'd done that very thing.

"This makes me extremely uncomfortable," he said, upper lip curling. "But I'll do it."

She pursed her lips. "I know you'd probably prefer not to have to be - to experience this sort of thing with me."

"Why wouldn't I?" His tone was sardonic. He picked at a rare loose thread on the seam of his trousers.

"Well, because I - because of what I am."

The insinuation pushed through the haze of his displeasure at the entire context of the situation. He froze with his hand on his thigh. "What?"

"Because I'm Muggle-born." She spoke the words as though they were fact.

Anger cracked through him. This was just like this morning. More assumptions. He wished he hadn't painted such a hideous picture of himself when he was younger.

Draco pinned her in place with his stone-cold stare.

"It makes me uncomfortable to treat it so clinically. You look at everything like an Arithmancy problem - like it's something to be solved with simple actions," he hissed. "This isn't something you can solve with logic. This is your body, Granger."

"I know that!" she hissed back, taking another step forward. Her pumps sunk into the plush maroon carpet. "I'm the one who was drugged, so I _know_ what's going on with my body. If you're really as understanding as you're presenting yourself to be, then you should understand that I'm just trying to get some control back. I feel out of control."

"Now, _that_ is something I can help you with. You ask me for honesty. Well, I need honesty from you, too. It goes both ways."

She started to lash out, then seemed to realize he hadn't actually said anything argumentative. "Yes, well. All right. I won't be so clinical."

He held her gaze. "Then I'll take control."

She seemed to pale. He saw her hands come together in front of her abdomen, fidgeting with her thumbnail like she had in the corridor when she was worrying.

"What do you mean by that . . . Exactly?"

He lifted his hand from his hair and made a flippant gesture. "If you want me to take care of it, Granger, you'll have to let me do it properly. I'm not treating you like an object in a scientific experiment. It doesn't need to be unpleasant."

Something dark unfurled within his abdomen when he saw the way she couldn't seem to make eye contact any longer. The corners of his lips twitched upward.

"In fact," he said, "it shouldn't be. It shouldn't. It rarely -"

She cleared her throat. "I _know_ that orgasms are meant to be pleasant. I get it."

"Do you?"

She glared at him, appearing offended. "I've had them. I am aware."

"With who?"

"I hardly think that's any of your business."

"So, you want me to - essentially - make you come over and over for the rest of the day," Draco said with sarcasm dripping from his tone, "but you think your previous sexual partners aren't my business? Okay."

"They're not." Her eyebrows rose.

"Right."

"They're _not_. Just because you're a man who has access to a woman's body, doesn't mean you have access to all of her secrets. She's not _yours_ to claim. However." Draco's gaze met hers, sharing a silent ire between them. She went on, "In the interests of honesty, I will tell you that I have slept with two people, but never had an orgasm with either one. I've only ever been able to have them by myself."

Her tone was haughty, but Draco couldn't stop his brain from going into overdrive. Quick as a lightning flash, he Occluded before the mental image of Granger with her hands between her legs could cause the blood to rush to his groin. Even when she wasn't trying to be clinical, and even though she stammered sometimes, she was blunt as Hell. That was _definitely_ not a Slytherin trait. He swallowed.

"And - just to ensure we're truly dealing with a lust potion here - those ones by yourself felt the same as what you felt earlier?"

She came to his side, sitting down with her back to the wall and her knees up as well. She left a few inches of space between them. He felt like his skin was prickling, his body urging him to scoot closer, but he remained where he was. As a measure of rebellion against himself, he let his hands rest palm-side down on the carpet beside him, millimeters away from her skirt. His leg remained outstretched, and he put his other hand on his thigh. His heart rate remained elevated. Draco felt her looking at the side of his face, but he kept his gaze trained forward, on the books.

"It's a lust potion," she said, hugging her arms around her knees. "It sounded familiar to me, so after I left, I went back to my dorm and looked through my things. I have a book that details the history of magic in ancient empires such as Greece and Egypt, and the potion is mentioned in the section about Rome."

He snorted. "Why am I not surprised that you had a book in your things about the very potion you were dosed with?"

"It was not _about_ the potion!" Her voice jumped up. When she spoke again, she lowered it back to Library-level. "It was a detailed history of Eurpoean magic. This particular potion - Cupere - was used so widely that it had its own small section. Roman wizards imbibed it as part of their wedding feasts. Typically, the husband and wife _both_ took it. I mean, it's a lust potion. Specifically, a _fertility_ potion. It provides the human body with an increased chance of procreation for twenty-four hours."

"There's a catch. I can hear it in your voice."

She gave a heavy sigh. "There's no antidote."

"Figures." Draco lifted his hand from his thigh and pushed his hair back again. "All right, so I help you for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, Richter and Poe get reported to the Ministry. Sounds simple enough."

"Yes." She sounded hopeful. "You'll really do it?"

"As long as you're capable of consent . . . Yeah."

He couldn't believe this day, nor this discussion. Hell, he couldn't believe he was conversing with her.

"The magic is - it feels concentrated to my body. It doesn't move up towards my head unless I go . . . Untouched for too long. It just keeps building, and I feel almost like I'm in pain. Or, like we experienced, I feel desperate."

"Not delirious?"

She shrugged. "I suppose I'd know if you decided not to help me, wouldn't I?"

Draco sneered again, acknowledging that he'd heard her, but he said nothing. His mind spun. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

"What are the rules?"

"Rules?" He felt her eyes boring holes into his face. He couldn't take it.

He turned his head to look directly at her. Even seated, she was short enough to where he had to tilt his chin down a mite to catch her gaze. The inches between them felt like miles. Her lips were . . . They were rather . . .

He wanted to kiss her.

"Yes, swot, rules. What can I do, what can't I do, etcetera."

She looked perplexed. "What do you mean? You only need to touch my hand."

Draco deadpanned. "I told you. I'm not doing this unless I can do it properly. That means making it at least _somewhat_ enjoyable for you. I'm a Pureblood wizard, but this isn't 1864. If you're coming, I'm touching more than just your hand."

Her speechlessness at his crass words was visible and audible. Her jaw dropped and she stared at him with wide eyes. A couple of sounds left her mouth, showcasing her inability to find words to respond with.

Draco, fortunately, knew how to take control of speechless witches.

"What are the rules, Granger?" he said in a careful tone, as though he were hand picking each word and laying them out on a table for her to assess. "Where am I allowed to touch you? Do you consent to being touched at all?"

She blinked. "Well, I . . . I didn't think . . ."

" _That's_ new."

Her hand lashed out, the back of it smacking against his upper arm. It was his turn to feel shocked as he stared down at where it still lingered.

His heart wrenched. None of this was his to hold on to. It was only because of the potion. The potion which she would not be on if he hadn't just stood there and watched her consume it with her breakfast like a complete wanker.

"I d-didn't think that - that it would be _best_ if it was too -"

"Too what? If it felt too good?"

She spluttered for a second. " _Malfoy_."

He didn't respond, choosing instead to just arch his eyebrow. "If you want me to help you with this: rules _,_ Granger. Or I set them myself."

She inhaled sharply and snatched her hand back to clutch her opposite forearm around her knee. He saw her lower her gaze. His psyche vibrated with a tiny burst of confidence when she did so.

It was painfully clear that sex was not something Granger commanded. She may have dominated the classroom, but she was, wands-down, a submissive witch in the bedroom.

Which was just the way Draco liked things to be.

His gaze darted away, back to the spines of the books. He read the titles to steady his racing heart. The section was the least popular in the entire Library - Insectology.

She sighed again and started speaking.

"All right, fine. If you insist. I suppose if I really sit and think about it -"

_Ant Thoraxes and Their Many Uses._

"- No touching under the clothes. Any parts of my skin that can be - be _used_ are already exposed. I think -"

_Your Centipede and You._

"- You can touch places like my waist or my stomach. My shoulders and arms are a given. I guess my hips would be all right, too."

_The Dance of the Tarantula and Other Arachnid Mannerisms._

"I'd prefer it if you steered clear of my private areas . . . Not touching my breasts or - or down _there_ -"

_Katydids and Their -_

" - Unless I ask."

Draco started and he viewed her in his peripheral vision.

"You say that as if you might," he said.

"Might what?"

"Ask. You say that as if you might ask."

She coughed slightly. "As the night goes on, I'm not sure what I might ask for, or how it might feel. I just want to make sure I've consented as much as possible. I didn't really get a choice in the first place, so I'd like to have something left up to me. I want to make sure you know this is consent in advance, in case I ask you to touch me. Just stay above the clothes."

Draco's vision lost focus for a moment. A sudden desire to go find Richter and deal with him the Muggle way assailed him. He curled his fingernails into his thigh.

"There is no modicum of consent within the boundaries of this situation, Granger," he snarled. "If it weren't for the fact that I care -" _Panic. Panic. Panic._ He cut himself off and spoke with a bitter tinge to his voice. "You shouldn't have to remember this as a total nightmare. You're choosing me because I'm already involved, not because you want it to be me. If this is what you want, then I'll oblige. I'm just letting you know that even if you feel that this is consent, I don't feel like it is."

"Then why are you doing it?"

Aunt Bella's laugh. Granger's scream. Blood spilling out on the floor. Blood that was as red as his, with not even a hint of mud.

He couldn't stop the words from coming out.

"Because I don't want to stand on the sidelines and do nothing anymore. I couldn't help you then, but I can now." He gathered up his courage and turned his head to look down at her again. His walls, however, remained iron-clad. "Are you going to let me?"

Her eyes narrowed for a moment. He saw her trying to put two-and-two together. He desperately wanted to look away, but forced himself to hold her gaze until she figured it out. When she did, her brows twitched together. She exhaled. He felt her breath brushing against his lips.

She nodded.

Draco's eyes briefly dipped to her lips and then back up to her eyes. "I have rules of my own. First of all, I need verbal consent. Always."

"Yes," she whispered. "I understand."

"Second, if you ever want me to stop, just say stop. Or no. Either of those words, I will accept." His eyes traveled further down, lingering on her throat.

"All right."

"Third, if I ever get . . . Out of control . . . It's not because I'm trying to hurt you." He hesitated.

If she were any other witch, this wouldn't be something he'd say. He'd just let her find out herself. But this was Granger. She was a witch that wasn't innocent, per se, but she looked like she would be terrified to encounter the type of things Draco liked to do in bed. He wasn't ashamed of them, not in the slightest, but the thought of her being terrified of him made him feel ill. He already hated himself and she was entrusting him with something that it was obvious she rarely gave away. So, if he scared her, it would devastate him.

She bit her lower lip and he had to force himself not to stare.

"If I ever get out of control, it's just how I am. I'm not trying to hurt you. I just have a tendency to . . ." He sighed. There was no point in censoring himself. "I like to be in control. Completely. I enjoy it. What I'm trying to say is that, I won't do anything without your consent, you need only say 'no' to get me to stop, and if I get carried away, it's not because I want to hurt you. I would never hurt you."

She looked stricken. Or frightened. Possibly confused. His anxiety levels were rising.

"And four," he continued. "Don't ever touch me."

She gave him a perturbed look. "Why not?"

_Because I don't deserve to feel anything._

He rubbed his stubble to try and massage some of the tension out of his jaw and remained silent. Honesty was doable. Completely lying down before her with his neck outstretched was not.

"I think I understand," she said in a quiet voice when he said nothing. "I just . . . Don't have _any_ experience with something like - like that. But I can handle anything. In any case, I agree to your rules. Do you agree to mine?"

He pressed his lips together. He _really_ didn't want to scare her, but he wasn't so sure she could handle the way he was when he completely lost himself to his passions. And with it being Granger, the witch he'd fancied for months, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to hold himself back.

However, he vowed to try. He didn't deserve that part of her, her submission. He didn't deserve anything from her. He was there to give, not to take, and he needed to keep that straight. If there was one thing he'd learned from his experiences during the war, it was that the people with the darkest hearts took more often than they gave. He didn't want to be that sort of person.

"You're the one who said she didn't care for rules," he said in a light tone, a half of a smirk appearing on his lips. "You don't have to worry about me breaking yours."

"You're sure you want to do this?" she asked, and he was surprised to hear a hint of insecurity in her voice. He never had thought of Granger as insecure. "With me? In spite of my blood status?"

"We're not gonna fuck, Granger," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "So there's no need to worry about sullying the Malfoy line."

"Don't be so crass," she said, tone scolding. "I know that. But the implication is - okay, let's be honest for a second here. Malfoy, in Second Year, I accidentally bumped you in the Great Hall, and you complained of 'muddy germs'."

Guilt colored him inside with shame. He could hear in her voice that it had affected her, his random outburst of vitriol. _He_ had affected her.

"I am no longer a blood purist," he said in a tight voice. "I'm fairly certain I never was."

"All right," she said, "but I still don't regret punching you in the face."

They exchanged glances and then turned their faces away. Draco hid his smile better than she did.

They sat in silence for a long time. Draco thought about getting up and leaving several times, but he didn't really want to. He'd agreed to spend the rest of the day with her, to be ready to help her when necessary. That, and he knew he'd never get the chance to be near her like this again.

Granger didn't seem to be in any hurry, seeming content to look out at the stacks. The Library was on the emptier side that day, Draco having seen only a couple Eighth Year Hufflepuffs sitting at a table near Madam Pince's desk when he walked in. There was no need for them to worry about being seen. It was quiet, too, which was why he liked to come to the Library during his study period. Typically, he'd have a book in his hand and he'd be sitting in one of the reading alcoves, but he'd needed more solitude than that today.

She turned so that she was facing him with her side against the wall, her legs curled underneath her. She adjusted her skirt in a modest way and Draco found himself staring at her hands. They were very delicate, now that he looked at them, and her skin looked smooth. Her nails were painted a rosy pink color that he found endearing. For some reason, he liked the contrast of the nail design to how she wore not an ounce of make-up on her face. She really was quite lush.

Granger rubbed her arm with one hand, staring thoughtfully into space.

Draco leaned his head back against the wall. His gaze drifted up the skin of her calves and knees, stopping at the hem of her skirt.

He flushed and looked away. He was being ridiculous. Blushing, stammering like a bloody First Year, with his heart pattering like he was running a race. She was counting on him, and he wasn't going to just stand there and watch her be tormented. He needed to suck it up and take control.

Taking a couple deep, steadying breaths, Draco dropped his right knee flat and pulled the other one up. He slung his arm across the upturned knee and rolled his head - which was still against the wall - to look at her.

"What do you like? Typically?"

"Hm?" Her eyebrows shot up in query. He found that he rather liked the way she looked when she was caught off guard. She blushed. "D'you mean like, in general? Or as in . . . Sexually?"

He couldn't help but laugh. He couldn't hold it in. "Wow, Granger. I guess I know where your mind's at."

Her blush deepened, but she didn't look away. She was a Gryffindor, after all. "The subject matter of the past thirty minutes can be blamed for that. If you meant in general, then there's a lot of things I like. If you're trying to get to know me, it's not that simple. I'm a complicated woman."

"Is the monologue how you rebuff all wizards who approach you, or is that just part of your complicated personality?"

She tsked. "Honestly, Malfoy."

"For your information," he said, his eyes scanning her face, "I meant sexually. Since we don't know how much time before the next one."

She grimaced. "Well, to be frank, it's been ready since last class period."

Alarm ripped his calm demeanor apart and his head came away from the wall. "What? What has?"

"The potion - the magic, it . . . The _well_. It refilled, you could say, during the last class period. I've just been ignoring it." She reached up and twirled a curl around her finger.

"Granger, what the fuck?" He slid his arm back until his hand curved over his kneecap. "Are you mental? What's been the point of this entire conversation, if you're just going to sit and ignore it?"

"It seemed like it was more important to iron out the details!" she cried.

"To what out the details?"

"Iron. It's a Muggle . . . Never mind." She sighed. "It's not that _bad_ right now. I just -"

Draco's right hand lifted from his thigh and reached out to wrap lightly around her arm, above her sleeve. All of the breath left her body in a rush and he could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric of the dress. She tried to speak, but seemed to have no air left with which to do so. Her raised his eyebrows.

"You were saying?"

She shook her head out. "I didn't . . . I've been focused . . ."

Draco took his hand back. "All the more reason to finish this conversation and . . . And arone out the details."

A strange glint entered her eyes. A small, close-lipped smile spread across her mouth. "What? You mean _iron_?"

Embarrassment flooded through his body, but his Occlusion pulled through at the last minute to block it out. His face remained impassive. "My job isn't to know Muggle words and euphemisms, Granger. Now, answer my earlier question."

She lowered her gaze, seeming chastised. "Sorry. Ron does that sometimes, and it just reminded me of him."

"I remind you of your ex-boyfriend?" Draco glared at her. "Or a weasel?"

Her eyes flashed and the look of remorse vanished. "You remind me of a ferret, if you're asking. And what does it matter if you remind me of an ex-boyfriend?"

Draco felt like he was withering under her glare. He turned his head to look at the bookshelf. He didn't want to be likened to a ferret or the Weaselbee, nor did he want to be compared to an ex-boyfriend. He was by no means her wizard, nor would he ever be, but he was Draco. He was his own person and when he was with her, he didn't want her thinking he was anyone other than himself.

But there was no way he could say any of that.

"It doesn't matter." Then, he turned to her again. "What matters is that you haven't answered my question. And I don't like that."

She blinked and gave him a look full of ire. "There's a lot of things in life that we don't like, Malfoy. What, am I _required_ to answer your questions? Are you my supervisor now?"

Draco bristled, but he exhaled to keep himself calm. "You're cheeky. You're _really_ cheeky."

It made him want to reach for her, to show her what happened when she didn't answer his questions. But he couldn't do that. That was the Draco that she didn't need to see. The one that he knew would terrify her.

There was nothing to do, then. He was going to have to Occlude for the rest of the day. If he didn't, he might lose control and pile more regrets onto the many he was already feeling.

He just worried it wasn't strong enough to hold back the desire he felt for her.

"All right, fine," she said, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing her ankles. "I'll answer your stupid, bloody question."

"Don't be petulant."

"Do you want the answer, or not?"

His answer was a twitch of his brows.

She seemed flustered. " _Typically_ , I like things to be a bit more . . . Progressive. I don't like being grabbed at first because it makes me feel trapped. I think men these days are more interested in fast, selfish encounters. I don't know if I'm making sense." A troubled, distant look crossed her face. "The last time I tried to explain this to someone, they said it didn't make any sense."

"I'm going to touch you now," he said. "Better just to get used to it, to make it less . . ."

"Awkward?" she supplied.

He nodded.

"Okay," she said.

Draco reached out with his left hand, crossing over his own body to brush his fingers down the length of her upper arm. She flinched and glared at him, but he could see only dying embers in her eyes. He ran his fingers back up to her shoulder and then down the pathway of her dress's neckline, millimeters below the skin that peeked out. He heard her breath catch in her throat and saw her chest rise.

"So you like soft touches?" he said, his gaze never leaving the path his fingers were traversing. He drew them down the center of her chest, avoiding her breasts, and began drawing circles on her abdomen. "Like this?"

"Y-yes, I . . ." She trailed off when Draco moved his touch along the front of her hip, dragging down the top of her thigh and then back up to her navel. The chiffon was soft. He could feel her skin jumping beneath his fingertips. "Did I make any s-sense, though?"

"You made perfect sense." His voice came out sounding huskier than he meant it to, but by the way her fists clenched on the floor, he had a feeling she didn't mind.

Granger's face titlted up towards his for a moment. When he met her gaze, she was quick to look away. In response, his hand smoothed around to grip the right side of her waist and squeezed. He massaged circles into the flesh under her rib cage with his thumb and heard her breath hitch again. He wanted to memorize the map he was drawing in her skin. This was everything he'd never thought he'd ever get to do.

"Are you sure this is - is necessary?" she asked.

He felt his desire pressing along the base of his psyche, but he was confident that Occlusion would hold it at bay. This was about her. It would always be about her.

"Granger, there's absolutely no reason why you should have to look back on this Valentine's Day as the horrible day a couple of Seventh Year Slytherins drugged you and put you through torment," he murmured, casting a quick glance towards the stacks to ensure that no one was coming near. He continued to massage her flesh, his thumb pressing further down towards her hip.

She let out another gasp, slightly louder. He watched as her palms pressed flat to the floor. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to move her body up, to try and inch him downward.

"You must have been with some shit wizards in bed," he drawled. "If you want something, all you need to do is ask."

She immediately stopped trying to push herself up and frowned. "What are you - _ah_."

Draco pressed in on the dip of her pelvis, close to the bone. She jerked forward and the smirk that he felt spreading across his face was devilish.

"But asking isn't necessary," he said. "I know exactly what you want."

When he looked into her eyes again, he saw the same expression there that he'd seen in the corridor. It was starting to hit her again, in a way that she couldn't ignore. She licked her lips, her eyes dancing all over the planes of his face, and then he pressed into the dip of her hip again. Her mouth opened slightly and she inhaled a breath sharply enough to cut him.

"Is the potion . . . ?"

She nodded, the motion seeming frantic. She started to lift her hands. Draco felt a whip of panic cracking in his chest.

"No touching me," he ordered in a threatening tone. He ducked his head to capture her gaze. "You touch me, and it's all over. We do this on _my_ terms. Understand me?"

Another nod, her eyes looking wild and full of trepidation. He'd meant "over" in terms of it only taking one brush of her skin to his or his to hers, but he had the sneaking suspicion that she thought he meant he'd call the entire agreement off.

" _Verbal_ confirmation, Granger." He squeezed her hip until she let out a soft cry.

Her legs shifted, her ankles uncrossing so she could place her feet flat on the floor. The hem of her skirt slid down, revealing more of her thighs than he'd ever seen. She seemed to have gotten more fragile in the last two minutes.

"Yes," she said in a small voice that made him feel powerful. "Yes, I understand."

"Don't forget my rules, and I won't forget yours."

"Yeah. I mean, y-yes. I won't."

Draco cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing her. She was either really good at following rules, was a submissive witch, or was just responding to him this way.

The thought that he was the only person she could submit to like this made his heart race.

The air felt hot around him. A switch flicked in Draco's brain. The time for talking and learning was over.

He had to know.

He removed his hand from her hip so that he could move it to the right side of her head. He watched her eyes fall shut as she nuzzled against his hand. The tips of his fingernails scraped her scalp, narrowly missing the skin on his fingertips. The risk of it thrilled him. He combed through her curls, allowing his fingers to brush against her side on the way down.

She sighed and her head fell back against the wall. He saw her hands move, twitching towards his arm before they clenched the sides of her skirt. The hem shifted once again, pooling at her pelvic region. Draco's Occlusion nearly failed right there.

"Why do you want it to be me?" he murmured, his hand slithering around her waist and pulling her until her side was flush with his. He placed his left hand behind her on the floor.

He knew she wouldn't say what he wanted to hear her say. He knew she wouldn't say she'd picked him because it was him she wanted. But he was so hopeful and so, so selfish.

"I don't . . . Know." Her brows met, her expression troubled. Her eyelids cracked open to look at him.

His own expression was intense as he ran his hand up her back, trapping her arm against her body and tangling with the curls there. He tilted his head to the side. She slid down the wall a bit, and he could see her hips rocking slowly against nothing. When she looked up at him, he saw that her expression was somewhat manic.

"Why do you want it to be me?" he repeated, his voice lowering. "Answer me."

"Because . . . B-Because . . ." She gasped when his fingernails scratched down to her tailbone.

"Are you ignoring me? _Answer_." He watched her face with rapt attention.

"I'm not," she protested, her eyelids fluttering again. She made a strangled moaning sound in the back of her throat. "I swear. I'm not. I'm just so . . . I shouldn't have - ignored it, I -"

Another gasp burst forth when his hand moved around to the front and down to her thigh again.

"Why do you want it to be me?"

"Because it's - Wh-Why are y-you doing this? I -"

His hand wrapped around her thigh, feeling the dress bunched up beneath his palm. She cried out, the look in her eyes showing that she had almost no lucidity left. A sound came from a few stacks down, and he panicked.

"Be quiet," he said, glaring at her.

Her hands curved into the carpet. She pressed her thighs together, trapping his fingers between them and the chiffon. He could feel the heat of her core, even through the fabric. He wanted to touch her so damn badly that he almost threw out their entire agreement.

_This was a mistake. This was a damn mistake._

"Please," she whined, her body cuddling up to his. "It's too much. I can - It's under m-my skin. _Please,_ Malfoy."

He watched with desperation clouding his judgement as one of her hands hovered over his wrist, like she was going to touch the back of his hand. Her hips were writhing, rolling like a buoy in the sea. She turned her face into his chest.

His Occlusion cracked, nearly failing.

"Please _what_?" he choked out, his other hand tangling in the hair at the back of her head tight enough to hurt. Circe, her curls were so soft. He wanted to feel them sliding across his skin. He longed to run his hands through them as she shuddered from the sensation of it. He yearned to pull on them while he fucked her from behind.

"Touch me," she moaned against him, her legs falling open a few inches and releasing his hand. She tilted her hips. He felt her teeth scraping at his pectoral through his clothing. "Help me."

Suddenly, a flash of something in the aisle across the way caught his eye. He heard two sets of voices, and faint bits of discussion regarding Herbology.

Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.

Draco grabbed Granger's wrist over her sleeve. He yanked her as he turned, hauling himself until his back was in the corner between the wall and the bookshelf. She started to yelp as she fell to her knees straddling one of his legs. Without thinking, his hands flashed forward.

"I told you to be fucking quiet," he snarled. "Why are you such a bloody _brat_?"

One hand cupped the back of her head and the other slammed down over her mouth, pulling and twisting her body around to his lap. He touched the skin of her lips and chin, leaving her nose open to breathe.

There was only a half-second before she fell apart. Her hands slapped against the floor by his thighs. Her back arched away from his torso, fighting against his hold momentarily. Her feet slid on the carpet, as if frantic in their search to scrabble for purchase. She moaned, nearly screaming behind the confines of his palm as her orgasm ripped through her body like a tidal wave. He let go of the back of her head just as it landed on his shoulder.

 _Fuck!_ he thought, panicking. The voices were already moving away from where they were hidden in the shadows, but Granger was whimpering, her eyelids fluttering and eyes rolling up into her head. He hated himself. He'd lost control so quickly, so easily, and all because he'd allowed it to get out of hand.

"Shh," he whispered, his nose pushing through her hair atop her head, inhaling her scent. "It's all right. It's okay."

Her screams had subsided into desperate, muffled whimpers. She moved her feet so that one was on the floor, her knee up as it leaned against his, which was in the same position. The other foot set itself down outside of his outstretched leg, and her legs were spread in a lewd manner. Her skirt had completely ridden up, and he could see her knickers. They were blue, cotton, lacy. Totally un-Granger and totally fucking infuriating.

Draco thought he might lose his mind.

"That's it," he breathed, his gaze trained on her lower body. "Just ride it out. It's okay. It feels good, doesn't it?"

She nodded slowly, as her hips ground against the air. He bit back the urge to groan, Occlusion being the only thing keeping the blood from flowing straight to his lower body.

 _Oh, my fuck_ , he thought with a mental groan. He knew exactly where the most pleasure would be for her. How soft she would be under his fingers. How sweet she'd be when he stroked her until she came again.

He felt darkness swirling inside of him, and it spoke with his voice into her ear.

"You were such a good girl for me, Granger, weren't you?"

She made a small sound, still nodding her head, and she pulled her knees together again. Her body was still shaking even as he removed his hand from her mouth. She gasped for breath, her head lolling on his chest as she came down from her high. He rubbed her upper arms with gentle up and down motions, trying anything he could to calm her. She gasped, twitching slightly. He heard her let out a small sob.

 _Oh, Gods, why did I do that? I'm such a fucking worthless piece of trash,_ he thought, anxiety skyrocketing. His hands slid through her hair, smoothing it as if it would fix what he'd done wrong.

"Why did they do this to me?" she whispered, her hands and legs limp on the floor. The weight of her body was almost comforting to him.

Rage.

He'd almost forgotten why they were in this mess in the first place. Richter, and Poe. Their stupid vendetta against her. Draco knew she knew it was because of the detention she'd given them. He also knew that her question was rhetorical.

He massaged her arms and her sides, slowly working out any kinks that may have appeared. He struggled to keep himself calm, a strange, cold feeling settling over hm. He would deal with them later. At this point, he wasn't exactly concerned with Azkaban, nor the consequences.

"It wasn't supposed to be like that between us, just then," he murmured. "I heard Longbottom and Lovegood nearby, and I just - I just freaked out."

"It's all right," she said, her voice sounding hoarse. "It was just overwhelming. It was . . . Stronger this time. I don't think it was you."

Draco couldn't tell which of her sentences was the lie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Songs of the Chapter: Situation - Don Toliver,_ _Experiment on Me - Halsey,_ _In Place - aftertheparty,_ _Simmer - Haylee Williams_

x

Draco and Granger left the Library together walking side-by-side.

Granted, there was at least three feet of space between them and they were dead silent, but it was still together. After months of pining after her like a chavvy, lovesick fool, they were in each other's presence with no animosity. He was going to fully marinate in every moment he spent in her vicinity before it was gone forever.

There was absolutely no way she was speaking to him again after this experience. Even though she'd asked for this, they'd discussed the shit out of it, and had agreed that this was the best course of action until the potion passed through her system, he could just feel it.

This was the only thing linking them together and when it was gone, she would be, too.

Draco kept one hand on his satchel strap and the other resting in the pockets of his trousers, forcing his gaze to stay trained upon the corridor in front of him. Frankly, she was everything to him right now. This was frustrating, being allowed to be closer to her than any other wizard, but not really _feeling_ close. Draco was someone who, while private with his emotions, needed intimacy to feel something other than crippling doubt.

When he was younger, he'd just been having fun with witches in the halls, or in closets, or in his dorm room behind silencing spells and curtains. Sixth Year was the year he discovered that his life was completely out of control, and by Seventh Year, he knew that his penchant for using his words to essentially control witches' bodies during sex was a little more than just occasional fancy. The last time he'd been with a witch, however, was before the Battle of Hogwarts, and he couldn't even remember who it was. He was sure she couldn't remember him, either. Both of them were Death Eaters looking for two sides of the same galleon: Draco wanted complete control and that witch wanted none of it.

That was why he needed to Occlude. Because he wanted to take control of her, and he wanted it badly. He wanted to play her body like a Salazar-damned fiddle, using his hands to trace the directions to his heart all over her flesh. He wanted to kiss every square inch of her, to tease her until she was whimpering, and then he wanted to bring her to edge countless times before he finally dropped her over the precipice. He wanted to praise her, to worship her while she came for him, to massage her while she trembled afterward.

He had specific desires. He'd had plenty of time to think about them, as they were so strong that he hadn't wanted anyone else since he realized he fancied her. Which hadn't taken as long as one would think, seeing as he'd pretty much fancied her since First Year and had allowed archaic Pureblood ideals, his father, and his own cowardice to get in the way.

He wanted to watch her ride his thigh until she was quivering and whining for him to let her come. He wanted to devour her until she begged him to stop because it was too much. Hewanted to be inside of her, pressing her hips into the mattress as he fucked her in the sort of way that had her teetering between wanting to escape and wanting more.

All with her submissive consent.

The dream of knowing that he had her consent, that she wanted _him_ to do all those things, was what made him shiver in the middle of the night.

 _I'm disgusting_ , he thought as they made it into the moving staircase room and stepped onto the correct staircase. _I don't deserve submission from her, in any way, shape, or form. I don't deserve these moments, or this day._

They leaned against opposite banisters, the sounds of loudly chattering students on other staircases echoing all around them. Draco briefly wondered what people would think at seeing them together. He wondered what they would say about her for deigning to stand beside an ex-Death Eater, but he found that he was too busy focusing on his Occlusion to care. He didn't want her to look into his eyes and see any of his transgressions.

He looked down at her, and she looked up at him. She gave him a small smile. A polite one that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her eyes, which he could see were full of bravado that he knew was false. No one wanted to be dosed with a love or lust potion. No one wanted to lose their right to their body.

He'd seen the tear rolling down her cheek in the corridor. He'd heard the small sob she let out in the Library. She was trying to hold it together. He knew what that was like, trying to hold your parts together while the ground shook beneath you and darkness chased you down.

"All right, Granger?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She blinked, scrutinizing him as though she hadn't realized he was there on the staircase. Her lips parted, curious, and then the staircase docked.

"I am," she said with an air of finality that quelled some of his self-hatred, if only for a second.

She stepped onto the landing ahead of him and as she did, he couldn't resist. He tugged on the end of one of the curls that brushed the small of her back. He knew she wasn't his by any stretch of the imagination, but he felt like he had some sort of agency to touch her in innocent manners.

"Hair's proper long now, innit?" he said.

She jolted as his fingertips grazed her tailbone. Her eyes averted to the right, towards a group of merrily laughing Third Years rushing to dinner. "I decided to grow it out this year. My curls, I've found, are less _bushy_ and more manageable when they're longer than my chest. I may or may not have used a potion to speed it up, but well, I never do anything by halves."

He tried not to feel stung by the reminder of his cruelty. He focused on the rest of her words and fixed a smirk to his face.

"Yes, I'm certain it would be much too difficult to run my fingers through anything less than perfection."

She coughed and didn't reply.

They headed off down the next corridor, in the direction of the Great Hall. As they walked, Draco found that the awkwardness, for him, had dissipated. He drifted to the right, until he was one inch away from her.

If this was to be his only opportunity with her - if this was to be his only chance - then he would not waste it.

When they neared the Great Hall, Draco was one step behind. He was glancing behind himself at the fresh snow falling outside of the window, rounding the corner, when she stopped abruptly. He bumped into her, his hands jumping to grip her by the elbows. She pressed further into him with a small gasp. He laid more stones of magic atop his walls, and ignored the feeling of her body against his.

Dipping his head down, wary of the students filing ahead of them into the Great Hall, Draco murmured, "Already?"

"No. Well, yes, but - but no. We need to let it build up more. No, it's . . ." She turned her face slightly toward his, her gaze remaining focused on the Great Hall entrance doors. "Richter. And Poe. They just went inside."

Draco's casual inhalation of her scent - which he was starting to find made his fingertips itch to touch her hair - halted. He wouldn't be dealing with them today, not while he was helping her get through the terror that they had wrought upon her. However, tomorrow was a new day, and he felt like she was someone worth going to Azkaban for.

"We can go in, or we can leave. What do you want to do, Granger?"

He would do anything she wanted, even though what he wanted to do was duel Richter. A Seventh Year against an ex-Death Eater? It wouldn't even be a contest.

"I want to hex them."

Before he could fully grasp what she was saying, she pulled out of his grasp and strode through the crowd with purpose. Draco hurried to follow her, silently marveling at the resolution in her stride. Her back was straight, shoulders set, and her head held high. He wondered if her bravery was a Gryffindor trait, or if it was just hers.

Either way, it was just one more thing he secretly admired about her.

* * *

They entered the Great Hall, where Draco lingered by the doorway.

They hadn't discussed whether or not she would want to be seen with him, so he thought it better to stand by the door and pretend he was waiting for someone to meet him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the heavy wooden door, by one of the massive goblin-made bronze hinges.

Granger didn't stop for anything. Even as her friends greeted her from the dispersing crowd, even as students waved enthusiastically to her, she spared them only disarming smiles. She put one foot in front of the other, each step of her heels _click_ ing loudly as she strutted up to the Slytherin table. The skirt of her dress swayed around her knees, covering thighs nobody would get to see today if Draco could help it.

Draco smirked as she stopped directly behind Richter and Poe, who were elbowing each other and laughing obnoxiously about whatever it was they found amusing. She tapped them each on the shoulder - one on the left and one on the right - and then took a step back to wait for them to address her.

"Draco."

Draco glanced to the side. Theo had stopped beside him, Pansy clinging to his arm like a koala on a tree. He gave Draco a once-over. The tense air between them was unable to be ignored.

Draco sneered and looked away from him before he could get riled up. He and Theo were friends, but when they bickered, it could last days. Draco wanted to stew in his anger until it eventually dissipated on its own; Theo wanted to talk the damn issue into a stupor. It nearly always ended in Draco tearing his hair out at the sheer anxiety of the situation.

"Hi, Draco," Pansy said. Draco didn't need to look at her to know she and Theo had thoroughly discussed the argument. "All right?"

"Fine," he replied, tightening his arms over his chest. "You?"

"I'm quite well," she said, and she pushed a lock of her shoulder-length ebony hair behind one ear. She leaned further into Theo's side. "We missed you in Hogsmeade."

"You lot didn't stay there for dinner?" Draco asked in a brusque tone.

Theo answered, "No, we -"

He was cut off by a bright flash of light. Another one, and then two sets of loud, male screams rang out over the sounds of dinnertime chatter.

All eyes turned to the Slytherin table with lightning speed, just in time to see Richter and Poe scrambling away from the table, clambering to the floor with varying degrees of issue to their person. Poe was vomiting slugs, leaking fluid from his ears that had witches nearby shrieking, and his feet had turned into fins. Richter was much worse off. Bats were ripping their way out of his nostrils, his precious hair was falling in clumps from his scalp, and angry, red boils were bubbling up over every inch of his skin.

Hermione Granger had just cast six hexes with only two flicks of her wand. According to nearby students' exclamations, she'd done it all without saying a single word.

_Salazar's motherfucking beard._

Granger walked past him, tucking her wand back into her sleeve, her facial expression businesslike. The Great Hall was a flurry of activity, professors rising to their feet at the head table with confusion, some students rushing to the Slytherins' aid, and some just gossiping amongst themselves. The general consensus, however, was that if the Golden Girl had hexed them, they both must have deserved it.

Draco's smirk returned. He could agree with that.

"Nott. Parkinson," Granger said as she walked by. "Have a nice dinner. Hope to see you at the Valentine's Day party tonight after Astronomy!" Her eyes swept down Draco's form and then she said in a cautious tone, "Malfoy."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, the sounds of Richter's cursing and Poe's incessant wails providing an excellent backdrop to this encounter. Draco found he rather liked the fact that they were standing here, pretending that they hadn't made plans to spend the rest of the evening together. Even though it was tinged with sadness and regret for him, he liked knowing that he was the only person who had permission to touch her for the next several hours. He liked that it was clandestine.

For now.

Granger kept walking.

Theo and Pansy stared at Draco with their eyes wide and jaws hanging open.

"She's mental," Theo said. "An absolute head case! McGonagall flies the coop for one day, and Hermione Granger loses her _marbles_?"

"What did they do?" Pansy turned to look at Draco, her brows furrowing deeply. "Did they do something to break the rules?"

"Don't ask me," Draco said, walking backwards and pushing his fingers through his hair. He gave Pansy a smug look that she returned with an expression of mock-disapproval, and then he turned to leave the Great Hall entryway.

Draco spotted Granger just outside the door, standing with the Seventh and Eighth Year Prefects near the bottom of the grand staircase. They were talking animatedly, and everyone looked worried. Draco waited by the wall, however, trying to look nonchalant as he slipped his hands into his pockets and glanced around.

When her conversation was done, she turned and looked around. Draco felt a stutter in his heartbeat. The fact that she was looking for him was just another secret dream come true.

For a moment, he allowed himself to pretend that she was his witch, that she was looking for him so they could go to dinner together.

It was obviously implied that they were going to sit together for the meal, as anxious as that made him feel. But now that she had hexed two students in the middle of the Great Hall, he wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Unless the Golden Girl really was above the rules.

"We need to go to Hogsmeade," she said as she walked up to him, a frown turning down on her face. "We've been so busy simultaneously planning all the House Valentine's Parties that we accidentally put the Seventh and Eighth Year combination party on the back burner."

"What's at Hogsmeade?"

"Madam Rosmerta's. She calls it her Special Love Potion. It's just a mixed drink she provides every year for the Valentine's parties. Strawberry soda, a bit of firewhiskey, and something secret, she says."

Draco eyed her. "How ironic."

"Oh, honestly. Stop. It's not a _love potion_. It's just _called_ that. But it's essentially the main beverage for tonight, and a lot of the budget went towards it, so we can't let it go to waste. I told them I'd go and pick it up, if they handled the decorations."

"Then we'll go."

She held a hand to her stomach and sent a longing look behind him. "Oh, Helena's nose. I'm famished, but the walk takes at least twenty minutes . . ."

He reached up and rubbed his fingers along his stubble. He avoided her eyes, looking off to the side. "We could grab something in town? Maybe she can whip something up."

"All right," she said, her face brightening. Then, her eyes snapped to meet his. "Oh, you mean . . . Sit down and - and eat together?"

Draco felt his confidence shrinking back, but Occlumency kept his face from showing it.

"I guess not," he drawled.

She huffed a breathy laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Malfoy, what is this?"

"What is what?" He narrowed his eyes.

" _This_. I told you I needed your help with the situation, and that I was willing to be clinical about it. But then you insisted on making it feel real, and you're adamant about consent. You comforted me, and tried to make it . . . Well, to make it nice. Now, you're asking me to dinner. So what is this?"

Draco stared at her, dissociating for a brief moment. Her words hurt so much worse than they should. They were laced with mistrust, with her preconceived notions about who he was as a person. The consequences of his pattern of past behavior. Consequences that weighed so heavily upon his soul that sometimes, he wondered how he would be able to find the strength to keep going.

He'd actually forgotten, for one fleeting second, that he hated himself.

"Forgive me for not being an arsehole," he said with a sneer. "It's not my fault you've made your opinion of me so absolute. Nor is it my fault that you think that just because of the choices I made, that means I'd ever want to make a girl feel like an object while she's under the influence of an illegal potion."

"It's _because_ of your choices that I don't want . . ." She faltered. "You're being truthful, aren't you? You really just want this to be a good experience for me?"

The sudden change in direction made him want to shake his head out. She was regarding him not only with caution, but also with hope. He couldn't help the way his heart leaped at her questions.

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I have no reason to lie to you. In fact, I've never had any reason to lie to you."

"And the Library?" Her frown returned. "For all the discussion, that wasn't exactly . . . A good experience."

His brow furrowed with concern. "Did I hurt you?"

"What? No. No, you didn't hurt me, it just . . ." She closed her mouth and her lips twisted. "It was a little terrifying. The potion's effects are getting stronger, and less predictable. I thought it was like a well, and it is, but it's almost like . . . There's a lid on it when I'm away from you. Like, specifically. Just now, it felt somewhat bearable, like a faint yet annoying buzzing."

_Away from you. Specifically._

Draco's blood chilled. ". . . What?"

She chewed on her lower lip, appearing guilt-ridden. "Basically, when this first started, it was like the magic was spilling out all over the place within my body. Then, when you -" She cut herself off and pulled a face.

"Just be frank, Granger," Draco said, his frown deep and troubled. "We've agreed to me giving you orgasms all fucking night. I don't care if you feel shy."

She pressed her lips together and exploded. "When you touched my skin, I think it sort-of coded the potion to you, for lack of a better term. So when I was in class, I felt the desire returning, but I didn't feel so out of control. I was all right. Until I got to the Library, which was why I was fine to talk with you until I sat down beside you. After that, I think the potion recognized it was _you_. Like a symbiote."

"I'm not even going to pretend I know what a symbi-what's-it is, Granger," he growled, taking a step toward her. "What are you saying?"

She sighed in exasperation.

"The section in the book I have is not detailed, so some of this is just my theory based upon what I read. The potion is a fertility potion, but it does not require the hair of the intended object of affection like Amortentia does. A potion that causes a mutual affect, or even just an affect on another person, _needs_ an added element to make that happen. But Cupere doesn't have that. The husband and the wife drank it on their wedding night, because they were ensured to be with one another. But what I thought at _first_ is that the potion adapts to whoever touches you first."

She tangled her hands in her hair for a moment.

"I didn't know if it was just myth, how to say this, or what it even _means_ , but the Romans believed the potion would only work on your true love." She started to pace, not looking at him as she talked while moving her hands about. "Basically, they mused the potion only worked with the person you were meant to be with, or who you were most suited for according to your magical core and body chemistry. That's why the potion was phased out within the century. Witches were discovering their husband was not the person they were meant to be with, it was breaking up marriages, and if the drinker touched or was touched by the wrong person - meaning, not their significant other - then the potion would be attuned to _them_."

She tucked her hair behind her ears, eyes having gone wild as the words tumbled out of her mouth at a fast rate. Draco was hanging on to her every word, his mind spinning and whirling. He kept hearing random words jump out louder.

Compatible. True love. Meant to be with.

_What the actual fuck?_

_"_ But Richter touched you first, and you don't feel attuned to him do you?" Draco scratched the top of his head, utterly confused.

Granger stopped a foot away, to the right, and faced him.

"Okay, look. Let's say I was marrying you. It's our wedding night and the handmaiden - also a witch - comes into our bedroom, and she accidentally touches you. Then, let's say your magical cores are compatible for magical birth - which is completely random and genetic. If we were then to sleep together, not only would the potion not cause you any of the effects, but there would be no pregnancy. You would not even feel attraction to me; you would only feel it to the handmaiden.

"Meanwhile, if _our_ magical cores were compatible, and you had touched the handmaiden first, but then I touched you, then _I_ would experience the effects of the potions towards _you_. If you touched the handmaiden first, and then I never touched anyone, or was never touched by anyone, then the magic from me drinking the potion in the first place would just overflow, and I would be, essentially, a wanton trollop feeling the sexual effects, but not the reproductive effects!"

She put her hands on her hips.

"So, when Richter touched me, it worked because the potion, at its foundation, isa lust potion. But then, when you touched me, the potion became coded to you. Like a symbiote, which adheres to a compatible host, _you_ became the host. The potion - its magic - felt that our magical cores were best suited to one another, and it coded itself to you. It hasto be you, Malfoy, because apparently, we're well-suited genetically."

"Which part," he growled, furious at himself for letting this happen, "is your theory, and in which part are we completely fucked _,_ Granger?"

She stared up at him as though she were delivering a fatal medical diagnosis.

"When I said it was getting stronger, I meant that in multiple ways. The effects are getting stronger, yes, but the reason is because the potion wants us to achieve pregnancy. The potion is a lust-based fertility potion. I think that each time the foundational effects are experienced and there is no sperm in the body as a result, the potion strengthens its effects in the hopes of managing it the next time, or the time after that, and so on. When I went to the Library, the magic knew it was you that I was standing near.

"I was fine in the classroom, if a little bit bothered, but then it started to increase the longer I was around you. So you didn't hurt me in the Library. I felt helpless. I felt like the moment the magic started to burst, I was lost and alone, and I didn't feel like it would ever end. And then it did, and I felt empty.

"So, to answer your question, the part that is my theory is that everything I just said is true. Malfoy, this potion makes me want to launch myself at you and only you, and that _terrifies_ me."

Draco stared at her again, feeling his panic growing and growing. This wasn't happening. It _couldn't_ be happening.

"So you theorize that this potion makes you want to sleep with anyone, but only have children with me, and the need to have children with me makes the sexual attraction to me stronger?" he asked.

She took a deep, deep breath and then held her hands up. "Yes."

"Fuck," he cursed, snarling. " _Fuck_ , are you serious?"

Granger's hand started moving from her hip to her collarbone, as though feeling it provided her some form of comfort. She looked crestfallen. Like she thought it was her fault.

He turned around and took a couple steps away. He couldn't calm down. He felt like a selfish, disgusting monster for letting her eat that breakfast. He never should have let it happen.

"So, if I left you here right now and we stopped this, what do you think would occur?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said in a weak voice. "I do know that before you touched me the first time, the further the magic swelled, the more painful it got. Then, in the Library, it was more of a mental pain, and a . . . A sort of ache in my stomach. And now, I feel . . . Cuddly."

"Cuddly?" His eyebrows shot up.

She blushed again, ducking her head down. "It's mortifying, but I want to . . . Just be near you. I want to embrace you, or - or just lie on you. I'm not sure. That's just the feeling I'm getting."

As she admitted all of this, Draco felt like he was existing within the confines of a nightmare. Because it had to be a nightmare that the witch he wanted more than _anything_ he'd ever wanted before was standing in front of him outside of the Great Hall, telling him that she wanted to be near him, all because of a lust potion.

She would never want this if she were sober.

He placed more stones atop his mental walls, ensuring they were high enough to keep his hurt feelings at bay.

"So, what do you propose we do?" he said.

Granger looked guilty again. "I don't think we should eat dinner together. Alone like that, I mean. I don't think we need to do that. And I'm not sure if it's the best idea for you to worry about how I feel, or how I experience this situation. I don't need it to feel good. Besides, let's face it: none of this is fair to you. What if the potion starts to affect my mind the further on the night wears? It's difficult enough for you to stomach touching me, no doubt."

He sneered. "I said I wasn't a blood purist."

"Well, judging by our experience together at the Manor, you don't seem like you care about my well-being all that much. So there's no need for you to be a Pureblood gentleman. I know we agreed, but I think we need to renege and revamp. It's best if you just take me somewhere secluded when I can't bear it any longer, touch my hand, and leave it at that."

Draco tried not to feel wounded, embarrassed, ashamed, and depressed. He really did. After all, before today, they were nothing to one another but childhood bully and victim. They would have graduated without Draco ever telling her he fancied her. He would have taken his crush, wrapped it in a box, sealed it, and dropped it into the deepest recesses of his heart. Asking her to dinner - in whatever foolish way he had - was stupid.

Yet he had, and he did feel that way. He felt wounded, embarrassed, ashamed, and depressed. He felt all of those things, yet something within him felt challenged. Determined to prove her wrong.

Draco did care about her. He cared about her enough to be putting himself through the torment of being in her general vicinity and unable to truly have her. Not her body - _her_. Her mind. Her friendship. Her respect. He fancied every part of her, from the way her smile illuminated her face, to the way she was able to turn a small paragraph into a thousand-word accurate theory, and on down to the swotty way she tossed her hair.

Looking down at her here, at the way she shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting with the strap of her bag, he knew. The way she kept fingering one of her curls in an absentminded manner. The way she couldn't seem to meet his eyes. He knew she was lying. She was acting like she was making the right decision, when it wasn't what she really wanted. In some capacity, she was trying to push him away. Which meant that, on some level, she wanted him.

She was scared of something.

A low, insidious fire caught in his abdomen. The flames licked through his body, consuming every last bit of his insecurity and pain, and set his silver eyes alight with understanding.

His disposition darkened. Towards himself, for making all the wrong decisions and spending all those years treating her like scum. Towards her, for taking the horror of her torture at the Manor and using it to convince herself that feeling something like attraction towards him was wrong. If she felt something, he wanted her to acknowledge it.

He took a step toward her, slow and predatory.

"You don't want me to make you feel good?"

The crimson color of her blush was furious on her cheeks. "It's not necessary."

Draco continued forward, his gaze zeroed in on her face. He hoped she could see how he burned inside.

"What? You didn't like how I made you feel in the Library?"

Her brows knit together as she looked him over, moving backward. She didn't seem to realize they were even moving. She opened her mouth to answer, the words becoming locked tight within her throat.

"Granger," he said in a sing-song trill, not an ounce of amusement on his face. "It's not polite to ignore someone when they ask you a question. You didn't like how I made you feel?"

She stared at him in shock. She took two more steps back, stumbling. Her fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag. She stood pigeon-toed, looking very unlike the brave, bold witch that had hexed two students not twenty minutes before.

"It's not that I didn't like it," she said in a tiny voice. "I just don't think it's necessary for it to feel that way. There's no reason for it."

He hummed like a stalking wildcat, his eyebrows rising. Draco advanced toward her, directing them towards the end of the corridor. His eyes dragged down the length of her body and slowly back up.

"I can show you what it would feel like," he said in a low tone, "if we did it your way."

He resumed his advance. Granger stumbled around the corner, into the shadows.

"What if someone else had been the one to get to you? What if it wasn't me?" he said. "Someone who wasn't a gentleman?"

The moment the final word left his lips, he quick-stepped forward. She cried out in surprise and staggered back against the wall. He slammed his hands down on either side of her head, the stone icy cold underneath the skin of his palms.

She let out a squeaking whimper. "Malfoy -"

He dipped his head down quickly, almost as if to kiss her, and she sucked in her breath.

"This is so typical of you, Granger," he murmured, one hand moving away from the wall to walk his fingers down the front of her arm. "Always doing what you think you should do. Telling yourself you shouldn't feel good if it's me that's doing it to you. That if it's my hands that make you want to moan, then you're just as bad and as dark as me."

Her lips parted when his hand trailed across the front of her abdomen and pressed flat with his fingers pointed south. He started to slide them downward past her navel. Her eyes widened in fear.

"M-Malfoy, w-wait. My r-rules -" She lifted her hands, about to stop him.

"Hands, Granger."

She froze and let out a small cry, squeezing her eyes shut. He felt her body beginning to tremble. She returned her hands to her sides.

He let his fingers slide down further. They were pressed to the top of her pelvis. Now, they were pulling the fabric of her skirt up a bit.

"You said -"

"But this isn't me, remember?" Draco said, cutting her off. "I told you that if you wanted my help, then you had to follow my rules. But you said that pleasure isn't what you want."

He leaned closer, taking a step so that his torso molded to hers. His hand was trapped between their bodies. His heart raced, but he ignored it.

"You said you don't want a gentleman," he said, "but a gentleman would do _this_."

His fingers pressed in tight, gripping the waistband of her knickers and the fabric of her skirt, and then he dragged it all upward with a sharp tug. She gasped and he felt her hips buck between the wall and his. With nowhere to go, he knew that all she'd be able to do was feel. She cried out before burrowing her face into the chest of his shirt. He heard her mumbling his surname, sounding imploring, and he felt a pleasant twisting in his loins.

"I'm not breaking your rules, Granger," he taunted, tightening his hold on the waistband, loosening it, and then tightening it again. He nuzzled his face into the hair at the side of her head. "Am I making you feel good?"

Her body writhed, her hips squirming and twisting.

"More," she said, her voice strangled. "Need more."

"More?" He feigned surprise. "But I thought you said it wasn't necessary?"

"It's - it is - I want it," she whined. Her hands slid up his abdomen, and there was an answering rumble in his chest.

" _Take_ your hands off of me, Granger, or I swear to Salazar, I won't let you come," he warned, his voice hardly louder than a whisper. He immediately stopped playing with her knickers.

To his surprise, she pushed her hands behind her back, where the force of his body and hers kept them trapped.

"Please," she whined into his shirt. She was shaking. "Please don't stop."

"Good girl," he growled, thinking about how her hands were probably aching to touch him so much that she'd chosen to trap them so she could follow his orders. "A gentleman would reward you for that. He'd reward you for being good, yeah?"

As she opened her mouth to reply, he pulled his other hand from the wall and slid it down to her hip. He pinned her firmly to the wall and with his other hand, began to pull her knickers up again. She moaned and her hips moved against his, trying to grind against the friction he was creating with the fabric.

Draco felt himself losing control rapidly, the thought of making her come undone without using the Cupere's magic to do it - without even touching her - threatening his Occlusion. He bit his lip as hard as he could to force himself not to groan, focusing on the feeling of her body struggling.

But if he did that, no lesson would be learned. She would still want to suffer through the potion. She would still feel like pushing him away. She wouldn't see the benefits in doing it his way, as opposed to a clinical, emotionless torment.

He just wanted to make her feel good.

"A gentleman would pull your knickers up like this, over and over, until you're mad with need." His smirk faded and he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head. A shaking breath left him and his lips grazed her hair near her ear. "But you said you didn't want a gentleman."

She whimpered. "Are you going to stop?"

He slowed his movements. "Do you want me to -"

"No. Gods, no."

Drawing upon his magic stores, he did the one spell he'd grown proficient at casting wandlessly. After spending years shagging witches in the corridors, it flowed through him with ease.

" _Muffliato."_

He let go of her knickers and, in the wake of her cry of dismay, his hand quickly moved to her throat. He wrapped his fingers around it, his skin touching hers, and then her head lolled back against the wall. He watched her facial expression contorting with intense ecstasy as her entire body shivered and shook between him and the wall. She viewed him with glassy eyes.

"How does it feel?" he whispered, voice hoarse. He didn't care if she could feel his arousal. He didn't care if she could see the unrestrained desire he had for her.

"Feels g-good. Please, it feels - feels s-so good."

He wet his lips and studied her face, his fingers massaging her throat and pulse gently. She inhaled, mouth open, thighs shaking in near-desperation. Her hands remained behind her back, and he ran his knuckles along her side while he kept his hold on her neck. His gaze traveled down to her stuttering chest.

He wanted her so badly.

"It's - _again_ ," she moaned, her back arching and her chest pressing firmly to his. "It's happening - _Malfoy."_

Draco nearly lost his mind when she began to come again. The look that crossed her face was pure bliss. Her teeth sank down into her lower lip and she let out a long, keening sound from the depths of her chest. He continued his massage to her skin, watching with calm, selfish amusement.

"Please," she whined, muscles still seizing. "I can't again. I can't."

His heart wrenched at the contrition in her eyes, but he didn't move his hand from her throat just yet.

"Do you think anyone else could make you come like this, witch? Could anyone other than me make you feel this good?

"No," she practically sobbed. "No. But I can't, I can't again."

Finally, he let go of her throat. "Keep it up, and those will be the last ones you get from me."

Draco felt go limp in his arms. He pushed his dark thoughts away and his hands went to her waist. He rubbed it soothingly, his face brushing her hair on top of her head. This part was important. He knew that it was important.

She was important.

_She's perfect._

Granger pressed her cheek into his chest, her breath exiting her body in short pants. Draco closed his eyes, risking it all to burrow his face into her curls and inhale. He continued to caress her waist, his hands moving around to her lower back and trailing up.

 _So bloody perfect_.

"Malfoy," she said after a moment. "Do you really want to help me through this? Because if it's not something you want to be a part of, I can handle this. I can handle anything."

He frowned into her hair, his silver eyes opening to gaze at the wall behind her. One of his hands came up to cup the back of her head. He deciphered the hidden meaning behind her words.

Confusion. It had to be a disguise for her fear, fear of who he was. He felt his stomach churn.

"You're safe," he murmured, his head spinning. "You're safe with me."

 _But is she safe_ from _me? Why did she pick me? Why did I say yes?_

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

She was quiet for a second before she said, "Do you swear?"

He'd deciphered her correctly.

Draco tightened his arm around her waist, pressing her face into the front of his shoulder. He crushed her body against his, taking a breath that quivered like an angry Earth.

It was his fault she couldn't trust him. It was his fault they'd never gotten the chance to get to know one another. He'd bullied her, and now these were the consequences of his actions.

"I promise," he said.

He wanted to kiss her.

His fingers tangled in her hair.

 _Don't,_ he thought, closing his eyes again. _You don't get to have that part of her._

All he would need to do is pull.

_She doesn't want you. She just wants someone who doesn't have any connection to her. Someone who she thinks hates her. Someone she doesn't have to feel embarrassed in front of._

He would move forward, until her back hit the wall.

_You mean nothing to her._

He would cover her lips with his own and try to show her who he was with the slow caress of his tongue.

_You don't get to be happy._

He just wanted her to see him.

She slowly lifted her head. It looked like she was in a daze.

"It happened . . . Twice _,"_ she said in a grave tone. "It felt like it could have happened a third time. There was hardly any recovery time, and my body was on edge. It was like the second one was more intense than the first. Malfoy, this potion is dangerous."

Leave it to her to terrify him and make him want to burn himself alive, all in one statement. If this was happening because they both wanted it to, he would gladly have given her three.

But it wasn't.

She was here because she didn't have a choice. He was here because he cared about protecting her.

"I didn't think," he said, his heart racing wildly in his chest. "I should have -"

"You couldn't have known. Even I didn't know. There's a lot we don't know about this potion, but I'm certain that my theories are all correct."

"Why do you think the potion is dangerous?" _Besides the obvious loss of bodily autonomy._

She looked troubled. He reached up to smooth out her hair, not missing the way her shoulders shivered even though her facial expression was troubled.

"Why is it dangerous?" he asked again.

She still didn't say anything. She stood there while his fingers felt the smooth slide of her curls against his fingers. Her hand massaged her sternum absently.

"I need to go to Hogsmeade. To get the drinks for the party. I need to."

Draco felt like she didn't need to go to Hogsmeade. If she were his witch, and if she weren't dealing with the effects of the Cupere, Draco would have taken her back to her dorm room. He would have asked to go inside, and he would have laid on her bed beside her. He would have pressed kisses to her temple while his fingers drifted a lazy path up her arms, until she was calm and okay again.

He felt the guilt hitting him like a tidal wave. It was too much. He'd shown her too much of who he really was.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe it _was_ unnecessary.

_Why did she feel like the potion was dangerous? What was she hiding?_

"Consider it reneged and revamped," he said quietly. "You got your wish, Granger. We'll do it your way."

She took a step back from him. He watched her expression shadow, and then she looked up at him.

"No."

"No?"

Her mouth was set into a hard line, as if she was angry. "I want to do it your way."

His tongue felt like cotton in his mouth. How was she not frightened of him? How was she not terrified of what he could do? They were only in this situation because of the lust potion. It was humanly impossible for someone to orgasm just from touching their skin without one. But he'd gone _way_ above and beyond a mere touch. He'd lost control. He'd lost control, and she wanted it to be that way? How? She had always seemed like the type to like it gentle and equal with no clear roles. Whereas Draco preferred two different distinct ones: dominant and submissive.

Unless she'd liked it.

"You want to . . . What?"

"I want to do it your way. I don't really want to look back on this situation as an ordeal. I'd rather look back on it as something that happened that went . . . Well."

As she talked, Draco slowly realized with a sinking feeling that she hadn't processed any of this yet. She was so logical that she hadn't absorbed the gravity of it. He was concerned. When she finally grasped what Richter had actually done to her - what he had _tried_ to do - she was going to fall apart.

Selfishly, he hoped she crumbled in his arms.

"Is this your consent, then?"

"Yes," she said. "It is."

Something curled in his stomach. "And as long as I follow your rules, I can do what I want?"

A fleeting expression of confusion flitted across her face and then she said, "Yes. As long as you follow my rules."

"And you'll follow _my_ rules?" He stood up straight, towering over her with lidded eyes. He lifted a hand to her hair, stroking down its softness, careful to avoid her scalp. "You'll be good for me?"

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and her head pushed into his touch.

"Yes," she breathed.

His fingers twitched. He wanted to grip her hair, drag her head back, and explore every part of her mouth. His gaze stilled on her lips and then moved back to her hooded eyes.

"Remember all of them. Giving verbal consent; telling me when to stop; knowing that I'll never hurt you. Remember all of those, and I'll take care of you. Got it, Granger?"

He saw the last of her faintness turning into strength. She held her head high and gave him a firm, resolute nod.

"I understand."

"Good," he murmured.

She bit her lip for a moment and then jerked her head down the hall. "We'd better go now, if we're going to make it back in time to take these to the Room of Requirement, and then get to Astronomy on time."

As they headed back down the corridor, he saw her slowly gaining back some of her spark. She stood up straight, stepping forward with more confidence. By the time they got ready to separate and go retrieve their coats, she seemed to be back to her normal, businesslike-yet-merry self.

"Meet me by the doors to the courtyard?" Granger asked when they got to the moving staircases.

He nodded, gazing intently at her face. She was so pretty.

She stood there for a moment, an awkward air hanging about her. Then without another word, she turned and stepped onto the next staircase going up. Draco watched her go, then stepped onto a set of stairs going down.

_I'm in so fucking deep._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Setting is not in the 90's, because there is a _Pirates_ reference in this chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Songs of the Chapter: Lost in Yesterday - Tame Impala_ and _The Weight of Love Blinds Eyes - Emarosa_

x

After a quick run to their dorms to get their coats, they met back at the school entrance, and then left through the courtyard.

He was surprised that no one was out wandering about, though he was grateful. He and Granger hadn't discussed what they felt about other people knowing they were spending any time together, dubious reason be damned, and he was fairly certain she had no desire for anyone to know the details as to why. It was for the best, anyway, since this was ending tomorrow.

It was difficult for Draco, leaning against the wall and feeling like he was waiting for his witch. When she walked up, wearing boots and a double-breasted coat dress that was colored a light brown, she even smiled like she was greeting her wizard. His lips curved upward on reflex when she did, and the resulting anxiety that pounded in his chest felt never-ending.

"Are you ready?"

He allowed himself a millisecond to pretend they were going on a date before he replied, "I've been waiting ages, Granger, and you aren't even wearing make-up. So, what? Did you have to use the loo?"

When she glared at him, there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

The snow was moderately thick underfoot, and light snowflakes drifted down from the sky around them as they walked. Granger was a damn mess, so short that the snow nearly reached her knees. She plodded along in a childlike way, with a determined expression on her face that reminded him of when they were in their earlier years at Hogwarts. He had to force himself not to chuckle, especially when he kept having to stop and wait for her to catch up. Luckily, his blue pea coat was warm enough with the collar turned up, so he didn't mind the extra time.

"Your parents. How are they?" she asked.

"Well." He muttered, "I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"I don't speak to my father. My mother writes sometimes, but she's very busy."

"Busy."

Draco said nothing. His jaw clenched.

They walked in silence for a moment. He wished she hadn't asked about his parents. He didn't like to think about how bad things were.

"I don't know what my parents are doing right now. I haven't seen them since before the war."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, the snow soaking the ankles of his trousers. His face registered astonishment and disbelief as she traipsed on by him. Without thinking, his hand whipped out and touched her arm. She flinched, but she didn't draw away.

" _Why_?"

She just gave him a guarded look, one that he recognized to be a mask. He dropped his hand to his side.

Another piece of personal information. One he did not feel privy to, but that she'd bestowed upon him anyway. He knew things about her now when this morning, he'd known nothing. He knew she wanted to be an Unspeakable, that she and Potter had a map that showed her things, and that she had no idea where her parents were.

He couldn't think of a single thing he'd done to deserve this time spent with her, and it sickened him to think of the circumstances it was happening under.

Finally, she spoke, and her voice came out soft.

"You weren't the only one who had to make difficult decisions, Malfoy."

They didn't talk anymore on the way down the hill, which he supposed was all right, since what they'd done in the corridor was a bit sobering. He couldn't say for sure what she thought of it, but for Draco, he felt ashamed. He had overstepped and even though she had said that she wanted to do it his way, he worried about the details of her consent. Was she agreeing? Or was she choosing?

Draco would rather have her choose.

He couldn't stop thinking about how he'd touched her first, before Richter. What did that _mean_? When she'd whimpered . . . Had it been a mere jolt in the magic of the potion? Or his words?

 _Wouldn't it be wild,_ he thought when they walked towards the Three Broomsticks, _if she actually fancied me?_

Except that made no sense. He was her childhood enemy. He'd stood and watched his aunt torture her until she was catatonic. They'd yet to have a conversation that wasn't full of snark, bickering, and mistrust.

Who was he, to even say he fancied her? He didn't know her birthday or her favorite color or her favorite novel. He only knew that she was the reason he was not in Azkaban. She was the reason he felt like he had a heart. Like he was alive, when he'd spent so long feeling like he was dead.

And why, oh _why,_ didn't she answer his question in the corridor?

* * *

Madam Rosmerta was waiting for them when they arrived.

She looked surprised when she saw Draco holding the door open for Granger to walk under his arm. Her eyebrows rose even higher when Granger tripped on the landing and Draco's hand shot out to steady her by the elbow.

Granger shot him a bit of a surreptitious look, one that brought a blush to Draco's cheeks. That was _not_ a mental headspace either of them needed to be in when seeing Madam Rosmerta.

Granger counted the galleons out that she said McGonagall had provided her with. Draco methodically shrunk down each wooden barrel that the students had purchased. She hadn't asked him to, but he'd taken it upon himself to do so. How else were they going to get all fifteen of them up the hill?

"Thank you, Malfoy," Granger had said, and the delighted note to her voice was a bit unsettling in its newness. "I was going to ask you to help me do that."

Draco was finding it difficult to feel calm around her. When she smiled at him and talked to him like a - well, like a normal person, it became ten times more difficult to keep in mind that he wasn't here to be her friend, nor her wizard.

"Wooden barrels," Granger muttered as they now walked outside with the miniature barrels tucked into the pockets of their coats. Draco looked at her, and she was shaking her head in amusement.

"What's wrong with wooden barrels?" Draco asked, confused.

"It just seems very . . . Pirate-like, don't you think? ' _Where's the rum?'"_ She proceeded to giggle like a madwoman, prompting Draco to stare at her. She stopped to give him an exasperated look. "It's a Muggle reference. I keep forgetting you're . . . Well, that you're _you_."

The tense silence that followed was a testament to what Draco had been tasting so foully in the back of his throat for the past hour.

She thought very little of him.

"I mean to say," she said, and he heard the unspoken apology in her voice, "You, like most Pureblood wizards, don't know many Muggle references. I assumed you knew of a certain film series, but . . ."

She trailed off and didn't say anything more. Draco viewed the snow falling on the town as they crunched their way back towards the town gate. He sighed.

"But what?"

"Huh?" He saw her face turn up towards him, her hands swinging at her sides as she trekked. "Oh. Nothing."

"Not nothing."

"It's nothing. Really."

"Granger," he warned. "Today, you've learned quite a bit about me. Do you really think I'm going to let this go?"

"No," she said with a snort.

Draco felt visceral irritation. "Let me rephrase that. Do you really think I'm going to let you not answer my question?"

She stared up at him, and then tripped. Draco never tore his gaze away, even as his hand shot out to catch her for the umpteenth time that day. She made a little noise and then cleared her throat to cover it up, pulling her arm back. They stopped on the sidewalk.

"Stop stumbling about, and answer the question," he said. "If you have something to say, then spit it out."

She pressed her lips together and they glowered at one another for a long, drawn-out moment. A silent challenge zoomed back and forth between them. Draco felt it like an orb expanding in his chest, in his sternum.

It was strange. He'd been with many witches, all for one night stands, and usually they were aware that they were submissive. Granger seemed to be unaware that she was submissive, and determined to fight against it.

He narrowed his eyes and took a step toward her. She jolted and looked away, as he expected her to do.

"It's just that I keep forgetting that I'm doing this with you, with Draco Malfoy," she blurted out. "I mean, you've done some things that made it clear that you weren't interested in anything Muggle. At all. And I . . . I don't mean to be _rude_ , but . . ."

Draco just glared at her.

She pursed her lips and then frowned. "You know what? No. I _am_ going to be rude. I keep forgetting that I've been going through this with _you_. Mostly because if I were to go back and predict who I thought was the most likely person to drug me with a lust potion to humiliate me, I would have predicted that it was going to be you. From the moment we laid eyes on one another back in First Year, you made sure to remind me as often as you could that I wasn't good enough to breathe the same air as you. That the things about myself that I had no control over made me worthless.

"Because of you, I had to find extra bits of confidence in books and good marks and passed exams, which turned my love of learning into a coping mechanism. Because you hated me and others like me, you took the Dark Mark and did horrible things for a demon. A demon who murdered thousands of people, including some of my friends. So yes, I keep forgetting it's you. I keep forgetting it's you, because if I'd had a choice . . ."

She paused and her eyes darted down to his forearms.

He knew what she was about to say. He didn't want to hear her say it, but he knew she had every right to.

"It's on my right arm," he spat out.

Her eyes lingered on his right arm. "If I'd had a choice, I wouldn't have chosen you to get me through this. I don't want you to be the one that makes me feel the things that I have today. I don't like how it makes me feel. I don't like feeling like I have something to hide, or like I'm betraying all of my friends."

_Bloody Hell. That fucking stings._

He turned his face and looked down at the ground. "Believe me, if I was strong enough to cut my arm off, I would. If I'd had a choice - a possible one, not an impossible one - then I would have chosen your side, Granger."

A snowflake landed on the tip of her nose. It melted. She was silent.

Draco's heart ached. He'd done this to himself, so he deserved to hear every last word of her trauma. Regardless of if it made him want to burn.

There was no point in confessing to her that the first time he laid eyes on her, he thought she was lush. No point in reminding her that he was eleven and obsessed with making his purist father love him. No point in telling her that he was being a prat to her back then because he didn't want her to know he liked the way her hair curled, and how her teeth made her look unique in the sort of way that endeared him to her. No point in informing her that it was his father who carefully poured the venom into his heart, his father who had turned him into a monster.

There was no point in explaining to her that every poor choice he'd ever made had been made out of fear, and that the only reason why he was still alive was because he was too much of a coward to kill himself.

"However," she suddenly said, her voice shrunken in volume. It seemed like the snow was swallowing up the sound.

He clenched his jaw. "However?"

"I do think you've changed. I don't think the person I would have predicted would hurt me is the same person that's standing in front of me." Her gaze was steady and unwavering. "The person standing here before me is a person that, while I don't know him well, I do feel fortunate to have him as the person that's helping me through this."

His brows twitched together. "Even after what I did outside the Great Hall?"

She nodded and then finally, she dropped her gaze. "I told you I wanted to do it your way. Assume that means that I'm all right with it."

Draco's jaw tightened.

"Even though it's me?"

"You're not the same person. There's the old Malfoy, and then there's Draco. You don't seem like the former any longer."

"What if it _was_ the old version of me, the horrible one who threw in his wand with a demon, and made you think you were worthless? What, then?"

The snowflakes were gathering in the dips of her curls. "I wouldn't be here if you were the same person, Malfoy."

He gave a bitter laugh, turning away. She didn't understand. He was only a different person because of her. Watching her writhing in agony on his Drawing Room floor had ripped him out of the shell of fear that he'd been painstakingly building around himself after Dumbledore fell. He'd spent every night since the incident lying in a cold sweat, waking with tears on his cheeks because he regretted not doing something to help her. He was only a "changed" wizard because she'd clawed her way into his heart and ripped the person that he'd been hiding out of the chest he'd stuffed him into.

And she had no idea.

Draco scrubbed his face with his hands and laughed again. He didn't feel like he'd changed. He certainly didn't deserve to be the one that put his hands on her, and he was fucking lucky she was allowing him to be the one to do it.

He felt like he deserved to die.

"Your naivete is the reason why you're in this predicament, Granger," he said, his head tilted backward with a mirthless half-smile on his face. "If you knew what I was really like, you wouldn't be here. You'd run. You'd run as fast as you fucking could."

"I'm not exactly the type to run," she said in an icy voice. Her hands were in the pockets of her dress coat, but he was well aware that she could get her wand out faster than he could blink.

If she wanted to.

"I can see that. But you should be running," he said, combing his fingers through his hair. He felt snowflakes melting upon contact with his skin.

"Well, I'm not going to," she snapped.

He whirled around. "Stop fucking talking back to me, and listen to what the fuck I am telling you! You'll only be able to blame yourself -"

"This isn't how I wanted it to be!" Granger cried, her hands coming out of her pockets so she could throw them up. "I wanted this to be as painless as possible. It's already stressful enough!"

He clenched his teeth and hissed, "You'll only hate yourself when you realize that you chose the wrong person. You chose the wrong fucking person for this."

Why didn't she understand that he was evil?

Draco started toward her. She stepped back, looking at him warily.

"Why are you acting like this?" she said.

"Because you don't get it."

Her gaze darted around the street. It was empty. He stalked closer, the two of them moving down the sidewalk.

_I'm trying to show you that you made the wrong choice._

"You told me you were going to make this not feel like a nightmare," she said. "So why are you trying to scare me?"

Draco's eyes flashed. "Are you scared, witch?"

She stopped suddenly and Draco nearly crashed into her. He grabbed her upper arms and she looked up at him. Around them, the snow continued to fall.

"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy."

His teeth flashed.

"If I made you come right here in the street, right where anyone could see, would you still think I was a changed man?"

He saw a flicker of fear in her eyes before it was gone, replaced by flame.

"You're the one in control, Malfoy. You may have my consent, but at the foundation of this all, I don't have any power. You can do whatever you want with me."

Draco felt like he was standing before a lioness. It disturbed him how much that thrilled him, to be this close to imminent danger and love it.

He hated that she was right: her verbal consent, in the end, meant nothing if she was under the influence. He was a monster for agreeing to this. He just didn't know how to stop now that it had already begun, not without terrifying her to get her to want to walk away.

He wondered if she knew that a lioness at the mercy of a dragon was just food.

"I can do whatever I want with your body," he said in a tone that dripped with caustic resentment directed towards himself. "But what you should be scared about is the fact that you're allowing me to. Because you do have a choice. You didn't have to come to me in the Library. You -"

"I _wanted_ to," she cut in, and her voice was full of venom. "I came to you because I _wanted_ to, Malfoy, and because I knew that you were the only person who hated me enough to be detached about it. I didn't think you had changed beyond adopting a generally reclusive lifestyle, until you said what you said to Richter."

Her words twisted his heart. His jaw clicked. He couldn't stop thinking about how he'd pushed the boundaries of her rules in a way that was anything but detached.

"What a surprise then," he said in a dry voice, "when you found out in the corridor outside the Great Hall not thirty minutes ago, that I'm just as despicable as I always was. Tell me, Granger, do you prefer it when I hate you?"

She started to say something and then looked puzzled. "Wait. You don't hate me anymore?"

_No. I don't._

He was silent, searching her face as he struggled to find the right words.

"You chose the wrong person."

"No," she said, and she wrenched herself out of his grasp. " _You_ chose the wrong person. You could have let this be clinical. You could have let this mean nothing. But instead, you chose to make _rules_ and make it _nice_ and make me _feel_ something."

Draco's brow furrowed at the sour expression on her face. "That would imply that it means something to either one of us."

She glowered up at him, but it seemed that words had left her. Draco felt like water was rushing past his ears, on a steady yet hurried journey to answers. His heart beat so hard that it almost hurt.

"Granger," he said in a low voice. "Does this mean something to you?"

She spluttered nonsense, her eyes falling to his lips for a moment. He knew it was probably due to the potion, but a deep part of himself wondered: what if? Draco pounced on the opportunity, lifting his chin and looking down his nose at her.

"Do you want to kiss me, Granger?"

A question, an answer, and a plea.

She exhaled, moving closer. She gave a cry of frustration. She turned around and walked back down the sidewalk. He saw her shaking her head, angry and stomping.

Granger was leaving. She was leaving, and so was his chance to keep her safe. Even if Draco was the wrong person, she wasn't safe on her own with that potion coursing through her system.

Draco felt his ribcage expanding to the point of discomfort. He had to go after her.

He caught her just as she rounded the corner, twisting her around to face him. She stumbled backward and he forward, the snow crunching beneath their feet until they hit the wall of the nearest building. His hand pressed against the wooden wall beside her.

"This isn't what I wanted, either," he hissed, allowing her to see as much of his pain in his eyes as he dared.

"Then what _did_ you want?"

"I wanted to go to McGonagall!" He slammed his fist on the wood. He felt like she was pinning him with her gaze, and he didn't like it. He didn't like feeling out of control.

She didn't flinch. "Then why didn't you? You didn't need my permission. You didn't need to help me when Richter touched me. You could have just gone straight to McGonagall the night before, or first thing in the morning. Why didn't you?"

How was he supposed to answer her question? How was he supposed to tell her that he was so selfish as to think that he could handle it all himself? That he'd thought he could just waltz up and sit down with her at the Gryffindor table? That he'd gotten distracted by her appearance and because of that, he'd simply stood there and watched her poison herself?

"Why didn't you?" she repeated.

_Because I'm disgusting._ _Because I'm selfish._ _Because I wanted this one chance to be near you._

"Think about it, Granger," he bit out through clenched teeth. " _Have_ I changed?"

"Yes."

" _Have_ I?!" he shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders.

She cried out, and her hands jumped up to wrap around his wrists. They were covered by the sleeves of his coat, but he wasn't concerned about that right now.

His heart stopped, seeming to hang on the precipice of a vast coulee of panic for a moment, before it finally toppled over the edge.

His mind split apart as the image of the Dark Lord's hands cupping his face ripped through him. He felt the pain of Legilimency like a knife stabbing deep into his skull as if it were still happening. His arm screamed in protest as though Pettigrew were burning the Mark into it again. Draco was so overwhelmed with pain that he hadn't been able to make a sound, his mouth remaining open in a silent expression of agony. His father had stood there and watched. His mother had tried to go to him, but it had taken only one look of warning from the Dark Lord for her to retake her place beside Lucius in the Drawing Room.

 _No,_ he thought, his lungs constricting as he hurtled through the memory at the speed of a hex from the tip of his wand. _No, don't touch me. Don't touch me._

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep, gasping breath as his head dropped towards his chest. His hair fell forward off of his face, and he felt it brushing against her forehead. He wanted her to pull him closer. He wanted her to stop touching him.

He wanted her to want to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her.

"Get . . . Your hands . . . Off of me."

"Malfoy, I'm sorry," she said, holding her hands up near her face in surrender. "I'm sorry, all right?"

"Don't touch me," he whispered. "Please."

He wanted to step away. He was so ashamed. He was so angry. He was in so much pain. It was too much.

 _She knows_ , came the thoughts in the midst of his fit. _She knows how weak you are._

"I'm sorry," she said, her hands inching closer to his face. "I'm sorry that all you had were impossible choices. I'm sorry that none of us gave you a chance. I'm sorry, Malfoy, that you lost everything to him."

_Him._

Red eyes. Pain.

The Cruciatus curse melting him from the inside out.

"Don't," he choked out. "You'll -"

He almost leaned into her, almost let go of it all, and then he remembered who he was. He remembered how he'd tormented her for years, how she'd screamed on his Drawing Room floor. He remembered that there was a reason why he didn't want to be touched.

Draco tore himself away from her, staggering onto the edge of the cobblestone street. Chest heaving, he shook his head.

"I told you if you broke my rules, this would be - that I'd be done." He swallowed, combing his fingers through his hair and tugging at it. He felt like he was dying for air.

"Wait - what?" Her voice quivered.

"It's fucking done, Granger," he said in a hoarse voice. "I'm not doing it anymore."

"Are you . . . Wait . . . Malfoy, can't we - can't we talk about this?"

"No. We're going back to the castle, and then that's it."

He turned and stalked off back to the town entrance, his veins thrumming with anger and distress.

Draco wanted to be done because she touched him, and it made him feel like tearing his skin off. He didn't want her to touch him because the only reason why they were interacting was due to the Cupere, which was why he needed the rules.

He wanted the rules because he'd pined after her for so long that he wanted to have her body, mind, and heart in every way possible. His need for complete dominance was not meshing well with the effects of the Cupere. He was ashamed of that need for dominance, of the way he ordered her around, and how fast his heart beat when she moaned for him. As if it really was for him, and not because she was poisoned.

The only reason why she was poisoned with the Cupere was because he was too selfish to tear his eyes off of her and talk to her, to stop her from eating the food Richter had tampered with. He hadn't wanted to talk to her since she spoke for him at his trial because he didn't think he was good enough.

He wasn't good enough for her.

He wasn't good enough for her, but he felt like if he didn't put a stop to this right here, right now, then he might completely let go of his control. If that happened, he would be no better than Richter.

When he didn't hear a second set of footsteps following him in the snow, he cast a glance back over his shoulder. He wasn't just going to leave her there.

"Granger," he called back.

She stood there, gazing into the air in front of her with an unfocused expression on her face. The snow was collecting in her curls.

"Are you coming, or not?"

Color suffused her cheeks and she gave him a short nod.

Draco watched her walk to meet him, surprised to see her face downcast. It was difficult to see this person, to reconcile the witch in front of him with the witch he saw flinging curses at Dolohov until he went down at the final battle. She looked so forlorn. Genuinely sad and not at all strong.

It was all his fault.

As she walked up, he couldn't help wanting to reach out and put his arm around her. His fingers twitched at his sides. She stopped beside him and didn't look up.

"You understand, don't you?"

Of course she didn't. She couldn't. He hadn't explained to her why his rule against touching him was so important.

"I understand," she whispered, her voice quivering. "I shouldn't have even asked you to do this for me. I didn't think it through enough, and it . . . Frankly, it was absurd." She heaved a sigh so heavy that Draco felt like it was weighing him down to the ground. "With our past, it was just absurd. Oh, I don't know what I was thinking. It was so stupid."

Draco watched as she began to blink a few times in rapid succession. He stilled. Was she going to cry? He felt his self-hatred shredding him from the inside out, tearing at his innards.

"I don't think I've processed this situation correctly," she said in a soft tone, her brows pushed together and mouth set into a deep frown. "Let's go back."

She continued down the sidewalk, and Draco was forced to follow.

At this point, he'd follow her everywhere. Anywhere.

Wherever she wanted to go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Songs of the Chapter: Dead Horse - Hayley Williams,_ _Fuckyounoah - Noah Cyrus,_ and _Come Undone - Tove Lo_

x

She fell behind.

Draco had lost count of how many times he'd had to stop and wait for her to catch up. By the time they were coming upon Hagrid's hut - which had been empty since he left for a long sabbatical in Romania - her cheeks were rosy with a flush and she was panting. He said nothing of it to her, however, because he knew exactly why she was having trouble.

The potion was likely stronger now, and he'd just had his hands on her shoulders, trapped her against a wall, and told her he was done with helping her.

Draco had taken all of about five minutes to realize that he'd made a mistake. He could no more imagine walking away from this opportunity to be close to her than he could imagine her welcoming him into her heart. He didn't know how to resolve anything or tell her he'd messed up, that he'd had a fit of anxiety and reacted poorly to her touching him. He didn't know how to fix this.

"Why is it a rule?"

She stopped before him in the snow, catching her breath. Her air turned into puffs of mist when the heat met the frigid February air. He stared at her while he thought about the best way to avoid the answer.

"Because I said so." He combed his hair back.

"Why?" she said, eyes hard.

"I don't let anyone touch me." Draco wanted her to touch him. He wanted her to be the _only_ person to touch him. He wanted to be the one who stood by her side until the Cupere was out of her system.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction and he saw them drop momentarily to look at his lips.

"I don't believe that," she said.

Tension.

It rose higher and higher, until Draco thought he might grab her by the jaw and snog her until they were sharing each other's air. It bounced back and forth between them, seven years of past holding them apart as much as it had pushed them together. He could see the war in her eyes. It was like the ringing he'd felt in his ears in the courtyard, when jinxes were flying and hexes were slicing and -

"It's not done. I mean, it doesn't . . . Have to be, it - it's not done. We're not - I'm not." He cursed under his breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He shuddered and then opened his eyes. He didn't deserve her, and he was going to ruin her with his touch, but he didn't want to be a coward anymore. "I'm not going anywhere."

She held his gaze a moment longer before a familiar expression crossed her face. It was her classroom face; the one she used when she knew the answer and no one else did. Like the stop before smug on the swot train headed to top marks. He'd seen her wear this face multiple times - _countless_ times - and she never failed to turn her nose up into the air when she did it.

"No, it is done. It has to be." She looked worried and her brows knit together. "It has to be."

His heart sank, but he forced his facial expression to remain blank. After all, it was _his_ outburst that had led to this.

"The potion has gotten stronger."

He looked at her, tilting his head.

"What's it feel like this time?"

"Like my skin is on fire," she said in that same matter-of-fact tone. "I still struggle with touch, but it would seem that I'm also having an issue with sound."

"Sound?" His brows shot up.

"Yes."

Draco peered at her for a moment, trying to piece the puzzle together, and then it hit him. In spite of the situation - in spite of his feelings - a smirk played about his lips.

"My voice?"

A pause.

She averted her eyes and nodded.

Draco said, "Are you sure that's because of the potion, Granger? You seem lucid."

"I am lucid," she countered, "however, I'm not usually drawn to your voice."

The silence that cascaded upon them after nearly choked Draco to death.

"Oh?" he asked smoothly. The snow was cold, and his socks were soaked due to his shoes sinking so deep into it. "What are you usually drawn to, then? My dashing good looks? My stoic, brooding disposition? Or is it, perhaps, my biting, sardonic sense of humor?"

Her lips pursed and then she said, "None of the above, arsehole. It's usually a toss between the dodgy way you leer at me all over the castle, and the insults you disguise as snarky remarks in class."

"What an articulate girl, answering my question with a non-answer."

Granger looked away. She took one hand out of the pocket of her coat and used it to push her hair behind her ears on either side of her head. "I haven't been entirely honest."

Draco's smirk lessened. With the subject matter of the conversation, he could almost imagine that he could guess what she might say.

"I haven't been truthful," she went on, eyes only meeting his for one moment before darting away again, "about the way the potion feels. How strong it is."

"How strong is it?" he asked, concerned. His heart beat faster.

"I've been using Occlumency," she said in a quiet voice, "to help keep the feelings at bay a bit. I'm not very . . . Skilled at it. But it's how I've been able to have time between each one. I can feel the magic getting stronger every second, and even now, I'm very, very tired."

Draco's jaw was moments away from dropping. She was an Occlumens? How had he not been able to tell? Being a natural Occlumens himself, Occlumency was a second nature for him. It came easily. He would have thought he'd be able to tell if she was using it. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember ever really being able to read the emotions in her eyes. He'd thought she just didn't possess the sort of eyes that bore souls.

"Tired of what?"

"Trying to hold it back." She appeared guilty. "It's cold and I haven't eaten, so my magical core is exhausted."

"Granger," he said, his tone chiding as he frowned down at her. "I told you I would take care of you. You didn't need to make this worse on yourself. What you needed to do was let the potion run its course. You need to learn how to ask for what you want."

She stared up at him. He saw something shift in her eyes. "Fine. Just once more, then."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Please, Malfoy," she said, her eyes lowering to gaze at his collar. "I told you I wasn't opposed to begging. I will beg."

_What?_

When he still didn't reply, she spoke again.

"I need it," she whispered, and he knew she didn't mean the Occlumency. "Now, preferably."

Draco gulped. "Now?"

"Now."

"Like _now,_ now?"

She shot him a look.

Draco grimaced. "Can't you wait until we get back to the castle? We're like, ten minutes -"

"I can't," she said in an insistent tone, shaking her head. "It's too long and if my Occlumency fails, I don't want to be caught somewhere public."

He glanced around. He was unopposed, obviously, but where would they do it? They could go back to Hogsmeade, but then they'd be late for Astronomy. He supposed they could skive off the class, if she could stomach making the quiz up later. He had a feeling that when faced with sitting through a mini-exam, or relieving the well of magic, she already knew what she was going to choose.

"Malfoy, please?"

He looked down at her, watching as she took a step toward him. She played with her fingernails, but the look in her eyes was both bold and desperate.

"I will be good," she said in a quiet voice, sounding as though she were testing out the way it felt to say the words. "For you. I'll be good. Just one more time."

 _What the fuck_?

Draco had never wanted to kiss or touch or fuck another witch so acutely in his entire life. He clenched his teeth. Holding himself back from her was agonizing. He felt like his desire to have her was driving him mad.

"Malfoy -"

"Stop," he growled, jamming an agitated hand back through his hair. "Where?"

She looked at the hut, looking even guiltier than before. "He's my friend, but he's not here, and I just . . ."

"Need it?"

She nodded.

Wordlessly, he turned and walked across the snow, headed for Hagrid's quaint little home. Draco was neither friend nor acquaintance to the former professor, but he did feel a bit remorseful about using his house this way. Especially with Granger.

Their hands nearly grasped the doorknob at the same time. Draco went rigid.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I apologize. I don't even know if it's unlocked."

"I shouldn't have reached first," Draco said in response, heart racing at the thought of what would have happened if their skin had touched. "He's your friend."

Draco feared that if he looked down at her, then he wouldn't be able to stop himself from kissing her, and he was _not_ kissing her while she was under the influence of this potion. In fact, he might not ever kiss her. Especially when she was free and clear of it tomorrow, woke up, and realized what a mistake she'd made in choosing him to help her.

She pulled out her wand, the wood slipping out of her sleeve easily. She pointed it at the door.

" _Alohomora."_

Her voice shook. The lock clicked.

* * *

She stepped inside first, the wood creaking beneath the soft press of her foot.

Draco hesitated for a moment before he followed, and the wood groaned at his slightly heavier weight. The cottage was warm, which was strange. In the dim lighting, he could see that there was a table with a few chairs and more clutter than he'd ever seen before. An orange stuffed armchair sat against one wall and he spotted a door nearby it, likely leading to Hagrid's bedroom. Near the fireplace was a wooden bench that jutted out of the wall, with firewood stacked in bundles beneath it. The whole room smelled faintly of the incense his mother sometimes used to burn in the tea room on the nights when Lucius was Reveling.

His heart wrenched. He didn't like to think about those days, but sometimes, his mind betrayed him and unlocked the memories.

Outside, it had been growing darker, the pure white snow glowing in a way that provided them light to see by. When the door swung shut behind them, they were plunged into darkness that sucked the breath out of Draco's lungs. He felt like everything had just been heightened: his emotions, her scent, the force with which they were breathing.

"So how should we . . . ?" Granger sighed. "How should we do this?"

Draco felt sweat starting to slick his palms and he glanced around in the darkness.

"There's a table?" he suggested.

"It might not be sturdy enough. The chair?"

A mental image of her sitting astride him in his lap pushed forward, and he shook his head. "No, we shouldn't sit in his furniture."

"You're right." She gave a nervous laugh. "That's . . . I don't know what I'm thinking."

"You probably aren't," he said.

"Aren't what?"

"Thinking."

He heard the floor creaking, saw the silhouette of her body moving towards the fireplace. She removed her coat and set it on the bench.

"No, I don't suppose I am," she said.

Her voice sounded like it had been pulled tight, stretched thin over rising anger. Draco felt his own ire rising as he struggled to find any reason why she would be angry with him.

"There's always the floor," he said, his tone biting.

"Like a dog?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, shrugging before he remembered she probably couldn't see him.

"I didn't say to get down on all fours, but if that's what you want . . ."

"Ha. Hilarious, Malfoy. Truly."

His lip curled. "I'm a bit of a comedian, you'll find."

"Oh, come off it!" She paused and then he heard her make a noise of frustration. "Why would you say that, in this exact moment? Right when I'm feeling my most vulnerable? Telling me I'm not thinking, like it's _my_ fault if my head's a little off-kilter? Like it's _my_ fault I was dosed?"

Draco felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

". . . _What_?"

"I'm not unintelligent, Malfoy. I'm aware that the things I'm saying and the way I'm acting isn't exactly in-character for me. But it's not my fault and I would appreciate it if you didn't treat me poorly when I'm essentially giving parts of myself to you that I typically wouldn't give." She heaved a sigh. " _When_ I _was_ giving parts of myself to you."

Draco glared in her direction. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"And I didn't ask you to make promises you obviously don't have any intention of keeping," she hissed.

"How do you know what my intentions were?" He pushed his hand through his hair, scraping it back. His heart was starting to ache again. "Thinking the worst of me again, are we?"

"You're the one who promised you were going to make this a nice experience for me to look back on, instead of a nightmare! So far, it's not been ideal."

"Oh, excuse me for not making it a paradise for you!" he shouted, his voice ringing out in the dark. "Excuse me for trying to figure out how to toe the fucking line!"

"And what line is that? The line between helping me, and helping yourself? Or is it the line you've drawn to keep me away from you?"

Neither Tom Riddle nor Salazar Slytherin could have stopped the words that came out of his mouth next.

"If I was helping myself, there wouldn't be any rules, and I sure as _fuck_ wouldn't need your consent."

Too much. Too far.

He didn't want her to know how hard he'd been trying to hold himself back from her, nor did he want her to know that he was failing miserably. He always failed. At everything he did.

Except the worst thing he'd ever done. The cupboard. He hadn't failed at that.

Draco hated himself.

"Then it's a good thing I'm on a lust potion, because I don't have the ability to provide it." She let out a short, quivering breath. "Why are you standing so far away, Malfoy? If you don't need my consent. Come and help yourself."

"Is that a fucking challenge, Granger?" he growled, taking a step toward the hearth that caused the wooden floorboards to groan again. "Is that what you want? You want the Malfoy who's helping himself to whatever you have to give?"

_Because I'll take it. I want it. Need it. Need you._

_Please._

"I want . . ." She made another frustrated sound, and he saw her hands come up to the sides of her head.

"What do you _fucking_ _want,_ Granger?!" he shouted.

The tension began to swirl, like it had many times between them, and Draco's throat closed up.

"I want you to touch me!" she wailed, and Draco felt like he'd been hexed. But she wasn't done. "I want you to break the rules and _touch me_. In the places I told you not to. In the places I told you to. I want your hands all over my body, inside of me, on my skin, making me . . . Making me . . ."

She whirled around, her skirt and curls fanning out around her as she faced the fireplace, and she fell silent. The only sounds he could hear were the sounds of his rapid breaths as he Occluded, throwing up his walls faster than he ever had before. He staggered back a step, because if he hadn't, then he would have been at her side in a heartbeat, doing everything she'd just detailed.

And more.

_Fuck._

He'd promised to make this nice for her. To make it good. So far, everything had been going wrong.

He had to remember: she was on a lust potion. Her moans were a result of its increasing potency, her desperation an answer to the potion's question of desire. Every touch to her skin felt like a touch to her lower body. Did she want someone to touch her and bring her to the edge? Yes. Did she truly want that person to be Draco Malfoy?

He didn't think so.

As long as the Cupere was in her system, Draco would not be breaking any of their rules.

He would, however, push the boundaries as much as he was able to, because he _was_ Draco Malfoy. He wasn't fucking perfect and he'd wanted for so long to just be by her side. He'd yearned for her for months. To even be her acquaintance would have been a blessing, if only to get the chance to _show_ her how sorry he was for watching her fall apart on his Drawing Room floor.

She'd consented. She'd told him that she wanted to do it his way.

It was time to stop being selfish. Even if it was the last time.

He hated himself before and he hated himself now. There was no reason why he couldn't hate himself in fifteen minutes after they went their separate ways.

"Come here," he whispered, his heart aching, his hands reaching for her. "Come here."

He was already crossing the room as he said it and he slid his arms around her waist before she even managed to turn around. The reaction she gave was as jarring as it was breathtaking. She threw her head back against his chest and moaned louder than he'd ever heard a witch moan before. It was the roar of the lioness she was, uninhibited and starving. The pent-up explosion of magma in the core of a volcano that'd been waiting, desperately _waiting_ to explode. It was exactly the way she sounded in his dreams, but it did not belong to him. _She_ did not belong to him.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness as much as they needed to - enough to see that her lips were parted in premature ecstasy. It was all he could do not to drop his head to her shoulder to kiss her there. His hands slid up the front of her abdomen, his fingernails pressing in on her ribcage and dragging outward along the curve of her ribs. She writhed back against him, her hands going straight to cover her breasts without shame.

Draco felt something bending within, threatening to break in two. His hands twitched, wanting to move up to replace hers, but he resisted and smoothed them down to her hips. Her arse pushed back against him and Occlusion was the only reason why he didn't get hard.

He wanted her to feel good. _Her_. He didn't deserve to feel good at her expense. Not when she was incapacitated. Not any time.

"Malfoy," she said, and the way she said it made him want to groan. "Malfoy, this is too real. It feels too real."

"Are you lucid?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Yes," she moaned, "It's just . . . So hot, and I'm - I'm so - I need . . . You . . ."

Draco's fingers slipped down the front of her skirt, pressing both hands in-between her thighs. He caressed them in circular motions, his mind spinning. He wished the fabric wasn't there. He longed to feel her flesh, warm and supple beneath his touch.

"I'm right here," he said in response to her. "I'm touching you."

A shiver ran the length of her body. He felt her arms shifting as she rubbed her breasts, and the thought of her being so needy made his stomach clench so tightly that it ached. She sighed. He felt her head moving on his chest as she tilted it back further.

"Talk to me," she whispered, sounding emotional. "Please."

Draco's head continued to spin. "Do you like the sound of my voice, Granger?"

"Yes." Not an ounce of shyness. She was either showing who she really was, or she wasn't lucid.

Draco selfishly hoped it was the former.

"What about the things I say?" he whispered, moving higher on her skirt, still stroking between her legs. He could feel the heat of her near his touch as he continued to massage her inner thighs. He felt her grinding her hips downward, trying to get him where she craved him most.

"I like them," she whispered.

Draco wanted to touch her. He wanted to feel how aroused she was. How aroused he was making her.

But he couldn't. He wasn't going to break her rules. All of this - her wanton lust - wasn't _real_. Even if she thought it was. Even if this was the last time.

He needed to protect her, especially from himself.

"Talk more," she whined. Her back arched further.

"You're so soft," he said instantly, burying his face in her mass of unruly curls. "And I want to feel you. I want to feel how soft you are."

"More."

_She's a witch, in more ways than one. Bloody Hell._

"You're so _fucking_ perfect," he groaned.

A wail. Her hips squirmed. In the shadows, he made out the sight of her tweaking the peaks of her breasts.

He moaned, and his fingers moved up a fraction. The skirt bunched further towards her center. He felt her knickers grazing against his fingers and he used the last of his willpower not to rip her skirt up so he could feel her heat directly.

" _That_ ," she cried out in response. "Yes. Again."

Another moan from Draco. The thought of her getting off to sounds of his voice and moaning made him feel like he was floating. He wasn't even breathing like a normal person any longer. It was taking all of his magic to keep his body calm.

"Do you want to come for me?"

"Tell me to." She sounded shy. Shy, yet needy.

_Oh, my fucking Salazar._

He hummed, low in the back of his throat, and he dragged her skirt up around her hips. He lowered himself slightly, trying to reach better, and her head lolled back onto his shoulder. She cried out as he slid his bare fingers down the insides of the tops of her legs, right where they gapped, narrowly missing the heat of her center.

" _Ah - Malfoy, Gods, please_!" she wailed. "Tell me to come. I need to hear it. I -"

"Come," he growled, cutting her off.

Curiously, there was a delay where there hadn't been before, where she gave a stuttering breath. In the expanse of the extra second, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. He had to take _one thing_ for himself.

Draco dropped his mouth onto the side of her exposed throat, kissing her pulse with lips and tongue. One of his hands curved into the meat of her thigh, gripping it tightly and pulling her leg up as though he were going to fuck her. His other hand came up to hold her jaw, forcing her head to remain in place on his shoulder. He sucked at her throat, pulling a cry from her, and then he hissed into her ear.

"Come for me _now_ , Granger."

Finally, the potion's magic worked the way they had originally expected.

She dissolved as her orgasm shattered her body, moans that didn't seem to want to end floating through the air in high-pitched notes. They blessed his ears with the sounds of her euphoria - sounds that he'd never be able to forget for as long as he lived. Her hips rolled, even after her let her leg slip back to the floor, and she sagged against his torso. He hummed again and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You don't have to," she whispered, sounding drained. "You don't have to hold me."

"I want to," he whispered back. His nose lifted to press into the hair at the side of her head. It was so soft, just like the rest of her.

They stood there like that for a moment, Granger's hands hanging at her sides, outside of the circle of Draco's arms. He knew this was the unnecessary part, but he couldn't stop himself from doing it. He just wanted to hold her. It was his last opportunity, and he was _going_ to hold her.

He was going to hold her the way he wanted to be held.

He was going to hold her the way she deserved to be held.

He was going to hold her until their hearts beat to the same rhythm. Until he got the courage to apologize to her for everything he'd done. Every insult, every mistake. For Dumbledore. For her friends. For the war. Until he got the courage to be honest.

It was difficult not to notice how well she fit against him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Songs of the Chapter: Strangers - City and Colour,_ _Broken vs. The Way We Were Born - Emarosa,_ and _A Devil in Blue - Chapter and Verse_

x

It wasn't fair that he was holding her, and she wasn't allowed to touch him.

Draco knew that it wasn't fair, but the thought of her hands upon his skin made him want to cry. To just cry and cry until he had no tears left in his body. He hadn't cried since the day Dumbledore died, and he felt like if he started now, he would never be able to stop.

Because his skin was tainted. _He_ was tainted. Voldemort had been inside of him. He'd been inside of his head and his poison still lingered there. He felt it burning, cutting, drowning, _suffocating_ him every waking second of every day. At night, he felt like he was dying.

That was why she couldn't touch him. Because he was so far gone that there was no way her light could penetrate his darkness.

When he finally let go of her, he had to take a second to collect himself. His throat ached.

"We should get back. Dinner's just about done," he said. "And you wanted to go to Astronomy."

"Wait!" She reached out and then drew her hand back.

"What, Granger?"

"Can you . . ." She cleared her throat and he saw her hand reach up to run through her curls. "I want . . ."

"Speak up, Granger."

"I want to do it again," she blurted out. "I know you said - you said one more time, but I just . . . I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't know how I'm going to get through it without you."

He was barely recovering from hearing her practically screaming without him ever having to do anything, begging him to control her body like he controlled his wand, and now she wanted to do it again?

Of course she wanted to do it again. She had a potion coursing through her veins that made her want to sleep with whoever would have her, over and over again, until she was pregnant. That was, according to her, the point of the concoction.

"Is it because you don't know how you're going to get through it without me? Or because you're scared you can't?"

Her silence felt like nails to his chest.

He knew it would be simpler to just agree, but already, they'd gotten too . . . This just wasn't a good idea. There was no real consent, and he had too much power. As much as he fancied her and wanted this time with her, he was lucky as Hell to have gotten the few hours he had.

But he was Draco, and he was certainly not as disciplined as he probably should have been at that age. He would take one last step into the world of selfishness to help them both.

One more time.

"Once more," he said in a firm tone.

In her silence, he almost thought he could feel her . . . Excitement, was it? Relief? He couldn't discern.

"I can feel that the potion magic is changing," she said. "I'm not sure why. I still feel the lust, but instead of it being all-encompassing, it feels like it spikes sometimes. Like it's responding to something in my body. When you touched my thigh, I didn't - it didn't happen. I felt all of the pressure - the magic - bouncing through my body, and I still felt the - the pleasure. But it was like it had nowhere to go."

"Like it was trying to escape?" Draco's blood rushed up into his ears.

"No. More like it was trying to find something. Somewhere to be before finally releasing. And then when you kissed my neck, the magic went to where your lips had been and settled there. And then it shot straight down to my . . ." She shook her head a bit in the darkness and sighed. "I just think we should do it again and see if it's changing. See if it happens again."

"Can you handle that? You're swaying a bit."

"I can," she said. "I have to. It's concerning that the effects are changing. It makes me even more nervous. Potions aren't usually so all over the place."

Draco glanced behind them to where the bench in the wall was located.

"Let's sit," he suggested, "and take a second."

They felt through the darkness and then sat down beside one another on the bench, inches away. Draco placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, hoping that if he did, he might be able to calm himself down.

"So -"

"I want -"

They both fell silent. Draco heaved a sigh and waited until she spoke.

"I would like to do it myself," she said, much to Draco's surprise. "If that's okay. If it's - if we're not . . . I need to be able to do it myself when the need becomes too much."

What did that mean?

"And you're sure there's absolutely _no one_ else who could -"

"I don't want anyone else," she breathed, her voice sounding a bit whiny.

He felt like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. He wanted to tell her to stop being silly, that they didn't have to be done, that they could keep things going until the end of the twenty-four hours -

But they couldn't. Not now that he'd said they were going to be done with their agreement. Not now that she'd reaffirmed it outside the hut. He didn't know her that well - not as well as he wanted to - but he knew one thing for certain. One thing he could sense as surely as he could sense the Snitch across the pitch in a snowstorm.

They were both stubborn.

"Will it work?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. What I know about the potion is all based upon conjecture. Save for the main effect, there doesn't seem to be any way to prove what I read in the book. What we know for certain is that it is a lust potion and it does cause a loss of lucidity. But we don't know why it keeps changing. We don't know why touching my skin worked the other times, but why this time, there was a delay. I feel like my - my skin is _crawling_." She gritted her teeth, and her hands went to her abdomen. "And I ache. It hurts all over my - my _body._ I just feel like . . ."

"Like what?" Draco whispered, the heaviness of her words forcing his volume to stay low.

"In the beginning, it felt like it was building steadily. Like I could - could manage it. But now I feel like it's unmanageable. Why does it keep changing?" She faltered and dropped her head into her hands with a sigh. "It feels terrifying, Malfoy, to be in this situation. You don't understand. You just don't . . ."

Draco closed his eyes. He may not have understood what it was like to be in her situation, but what Draco did understand was that the moment Richter got out of the Infirmary, he was painting Hogwarts' floors with his blood.

"I feel like . . ." She stopped. Draco could hear her holding back her emotion, her voice sounding like it was being stretched thin. "I feel like I was . . . Like I was _raped_."

 _He's dead,_ Draco thought with rage as Granger took several loud, deep breaths. _Richter is dead. I'm going to slit his fucking throat._

"It feels like somebody has their hand wrapped around my throat," she said. "And I've got two choices: give myself to someone, or let someone take me. I have no choice. There's no _choice_."

"Granger -"

"This is my fault," she whispered. "It's my fault. I let my guard down. I forgot that Voldemort wasn't the only bad person in the world. He was just the boldest one. There's so many people who still think the way he did. When he died, his followers didn't die with him, yeah? So you have to assume that they'd be lurking about, perpetuating his ideals."

Draco pushed his fingers through his hair, feeling nervous at the sound of the Dark Lord's name spoken aloud.

"How am I supposed to walk around school knowing there's people out there that still think that way?" she cried. "How am I supposed to - to go to class knowing there's wizards who want to do this to me? Who want to hurt me and - and - and treat me like the war is still waging on? This isn't what I fought for! I haven't gone through everything I've been through, just to come back to school and be _violated_ by a man with a lust potion."

She went quiet again, but she didn't cry. At least, not from what he could tell.

Draco looked towards her in the darkness, his hands resting on his thighs. He thought to himself for a moment. He needed to ensure that his next words were chosen well.

"I know I was the first person you thought that would do this to you," he said, voice halting. "I know you don't trust me. But I want - I need to tell you that if I could go back and fix this, I would. I would go back so fucking fast."

She sighed again. "Oh, Merlin, it's not your fault. And you -"

"It is my fault." He stopped, taking a deep breath of his own. "I've been . . . Selfish."

"Selfish?"

"Yes," he said, not wanting her to know just how selfish he'd been. "Selfish and nowhere near the person you need right now."

He saw her sit up straighter. "Are you sure you want to stay here for this? I can do it myself. I'm going to have to for the rest of the day, and it's not like I haven't - _erm_ \- touched my -"

"I'm staying," he cut in, his words beheading her babbling before it could get out of control.

He heard her breathe a small sigh of relief.

"I know you said you wanted this to be done, and I know everything has been really overwhelming. And confusing. I'm confused, too. And I know we aren't even _friends_. But I don't want you to go, Malfoy. I don't think I can do this on my own."

The silence seemed heavy.

Draco said, "I'm staying, Granger."

He could hear what she wasn't saying ringing in his ears as clearly as though she'd spoken.

_For now, or for the rest of this nightmare?_

His heart wanted the latter. Stubbornness had decided the former.

He shifted, and he felt her knee bumping into his. Her body jerked away for a second. Draco held his breath.

She relaxed, and allowed her leg to rest alongside his.

Progress.

"I wouldn't blame you," she said, "if you did want to leave."

He sighed. He wished he could take her hand in his own.

"Out of everyone in the entire school, Granger, you came to me," he said. "You came to _me_. If I left now, I'd be no better than Richter. I'd be no better than the Dark Lord and all of his followers. And if you'll recall . . ."

He saw her head lift, turning to look at him. He felt her breath on his face, surprising him. He hadn't realized that he'd moved closer, too.

"If you'll recall, I was one of them. I was a monster who used to believe what the Dark Lord preached. I used to . . ." He frowned. "I was your monster for seven years. And deep down, I may still be a monster - I may not have changed - but I'm trying."

_For you. Like you did for me when you spoke for me and gifted me freedom I didn't deserve._

There was a few seconds of silence before she said, "I need to do this. I know it might be uncomfortable for you, and that's why I want you to know that you _can_ leave."

"We can do whatever you want," he said, feeling a bit confused as to her continuous desire to give him a way out of something he'd already made clear he wanted to do. "I'm just here to help."

He felt her eyes on him in the darkness. She didn't respond at first.

Then she said, "Not this time."

". . . What do you mean?"

She inhaled deeply and spoke on the exhale. "I'm going to touch myself."

Draco's eyes widened in stages as her words settled into his psyche and blew his mind wide open. His heartbeat slowly increased by the moment as he tried to quell the mental images that were threatening to send him into a coma. Because Granger with her hand in-between her legs was not only something he hadn't expected to get the pleasure of seeing today, but it wasn't something he thought he'd _ever_ get to see.

"And me staying for this helps you . . . How?"

More silence. A weak cough.

"It's not that it - that is to say, I -"

"You want me to talk to you."

Yet more silence, only this time, she remained that way.

Draco weighed his options.

He could stay.

If he stayed, then he would be able to show her he cared in a way that was a lot less nerve-wracking than telling her with his words. Staying meant that he was choosing to remain a part of this situation, of this slice of her life. Staying meant that he was choosing to be the one that risked everything to help her, because if it weren't him, her loss of lucidity could put her in a position to sleep with someone she didn't want to, or worse.

If he stayed, this moment would alter every interaction they had for the rest of the school year. Every class they took, every time they crossed paths in the corridors, every meal in the Great Hall. They would always have the memory of this moment, as well as all the previous moments they'd shared as a result of the Cupere.

Draco could also leave.

If he left, he would be doing the right thing. Removing himself from the situation - a situation where he was effectively biased - and keeping her safe from himself. He could go his way, she could go hers, and that would be the end of it. He wouldn't even have to know what happened after he left. He could just go back to his corner of the universe, pine after her until the feelings faded, and move on.

Leaving would be the right thing to do. Staying would be the selfish thing.

He pulled out his wand and cast _lumos,_ and then used the light to see where the firewood was underneath the bench.

"What are you doing?"

He looked up at her from where he crouched, seeing the drawn expression on her face by the light of his wand. His arm brushed her calf and she jumped. He saw her pull her lower lip in-between her teeth and he let his gaze linger on her mouth for a moment before he spoke.

"It's cold as a witch's tit in here, Granger, and I'm not interested in this being any more uncomfortable than it has to be."

"Ah," was all she said.

It was clear she was nervous.

Draco took the firewood bundle and placed it into the fireplace. After casting _incendio_ , he went back to the bench. The fire roared up, casting the room in an array of flickering orange and yellow glows. Warmth gradually replaced the chill that had permeated the weak warming charm that he assumed was placed on the cottage for whatever reason, and he tried to relax.

He was nervous, too.

He was staying, so this was happening. He was just going to have to make sure he kept his hands to himself.

"It might not work," Granger said, reaching up to tuck her curls behind her ears. The pink of her dress looked darker in the firelight. "This potion was a potion designed for procreation, so . . . It makes the most sense that self-exploration would provide no relief as a means for ensuring sexual intercourse with the opposite sex."

"Always so clinical," Draco said in a tight voice. He rested his hands on his knees.

"Oh, honestly, Malfoy." She tutted. "I'm only wanting to discuss the possibility that it might not work. If it does work, then that could explain why the potion was discontinued, besides my other theories and the fact that the potion codes itself to specific partners."

"So you're essentially doing this for -"

"For the scientific side of it. If it works, then I can make it through the rest of the night with little interruption. If it doesn't work, then I'll . . . Well, I can always help get the party set up, and then go back to my dorm for the rest of the night. There's Calming Draught or Dreamless Sleep I have leftover from last year. I can always use those."

"And if those don't work?"

"I can always stun myself."

Draco thought that sounded over the top. He curled his fingers tighter around his kneecaps and then, when he couldn't take the anxious pressure in his body any longer, he stood up. He began to pace back and forth in front of the hearth.

"What do you think? You always excelled in Potions class," Granger asked. "You have to have _some_ sort of theory."

"I think the potion is changing because it's reactionary," he said. "I think it was designed to get stronger as the wedding night wore on. If you were with your husband, you wouldn't notice because the two of you would be periodically sleeping together. I think the reason why there's differing periods of time between each one is because the potion listens to your body's needs. Or, its wants, in this case. But I don't think it's the same for everyone; I think the potion reacts to each individual body. So if I took it, it wouldn't react the same as it does for you."

"So . . . You're saying that the potion is _intentionally_ finicky?" She sat up straight. Her honey-brown eyes seemed to glow amber in the firelight. She looked invigorated. "So it's almost like Blood -"

"- Replenishment potion," he finished, feeling his heart leap in his chest. He hurried to sit beside her again, and she turned to face him, her eyes wide. "A Blood Replenishment potion's magic changes its consistency depending on the blood type. So it reacts to the person that imbibes it. This potion - Cupere - could be like that. It might be a blank slate, of sorts, until it's consumed."

"But blood potions have a set amount of blood types to choose from, or to turn into," she said, her brow furrowing as she looked thoughtfully into the air between them. Then, her eyes lit up and she met his gaze again. "Do you think it could be possible that the potion reacts to gender?"

"I mean, it's possible. If the reaction was poor in one gender versus the other, it could explain why the potion was discontinued and replaced with new types of lust potions." Draco rubbed his chin, feeling the tiny pricks of blonde stubble that were just starting to come in. "But the question is, what would be considered 'poor'? If it's primarily a lust potion, a poor reaction would be either not working, lasting too long, or causing adverse health conditions like dehydration. If the potion's main goal is to achieve pregnancy in the woman, then a poor reaction would obviously be not attaining pregnancy."

He tore his eyes off of the ground and looked at her. She was looking at him strangely. When his gaze fell upon her, she averted her eyes. She looked down for a moment and he saw her brows twitch together. Shadows flickered across her face from the crackling fire.

_Why was she looking at me like that?_

"I think Potions was the only class in which you were on equal footing with me," she said in a wistful tone.

"Bested you in."

"Huh?"

Draco smirked. "It was the only class that I bested you in. Fifth Year? Remember?"

She dropped her chin. "That didn't count. Umbridge would have given you an O for breathing."

"It still counts. An O is an O is an O is a -"

"Prat."

When he glared at her, he was surprised to see her lips curling up into the sort of smile he only ever saw her give her friends. It was small, but it somehow seemed brighter and more real than even the smile she'd given him when she met him by the courtyard wearing her coat. He rested his elbows on his thighs and laced his fingers in front of his mouth.

"I think we're overthinking the potion," he said. "My theory is that . . . Maybe it's not that complicated."

Granger raised her eyebrows, placing one hand on the bench beside her and leaning against it. "Oh?"

"Maybe the reason they stopped using it had nothing to do with its effectiveness, and everything to do with the way consumerism works. Potioneers update their brews constantly, even when something works. Things get tweaked, added, removed, replaced . . . It's entirely possible Roman potioneers had just come up with something better and more effective."

"That's true," Granger said, mirroring him leaning forward on her thighs. She played with her fingernails absentmindedly. "Maybe there's no rhyme or reason behind why it's been so different each time. Maybe it's not building up to anything."

"Or maybe it is," he said, acutely aware of how close she was to him. Their legs were still brushing one another's. "Maybe it's designed to increase the 'heat,' for lack of a better word, for the twenty-four hours, and then it stops."

"Fades or stops abruptly?"

"Mm, I'm thinking it's likely that it fades." A lock of his messy hair fell forward, and he scraped it back. "Potions leave the system like any Muggle medicine. Gradually, over time."

"You know about Muggle medicines?" She sounded surprised.

"My mother is a Healer," he said. "And even though she's a Pureblood, she always recognized the importance of a Burst Aid kit."

Silence.

Granger sounded amused as she said, "You mean a First Aid kit?"

Embarrassment flooded through him, blooming outward from his chest. It was thanks to the fire that his blush went unnoticed. He sneered.

"Watch your mouth, witch. Maybe your solo act should be just that."

Much to his surprise, she was quick to respond. "You say that as though you truly believe I'll just close my mouth and stop talking."

Draco couldn't tell if she was trying to argue, or if she was just being snarky. Either way, he felt his skin prickling and he sat up. He turned to look down at her, because even sitting down, she was shorter than him.

"I could shut it for you," he said, his voice lowering several octaves. "It would give you something else to do with that tongue."

She opened her mouth to reply, but only a nervous laugh escaped.

Something about her sudden flustered disposition caused something dark to stir within the pit of his stomach. His silver eyes burned into hers.

"All you have to do is ask," he said.

"Malfoy," she said, sounding like she was chastising a small child. She turned her face away from the fire. "You can be quite the cheeky one, yourself."

Draco hardly heard her. His eyes roved the length of her neck, down to her collarbones and the bodice of her dress. The breasts she'd been touching. The thighs he'd been caressing. And then they roved back up to the lips that had pleaded with him to take control.

"Look at me, Granger."

He saw her chest rise without falling. Slowly, she turned her head to look up at him. He remained where he sat, their legs still brushing.

"Ask me to touch you."

The heat from the fire seemed to intensify. The tension increased.

Her eyes darted down to his lips.

She looked away again.

"Cheeky," she whispered.

They were silent for a moment, Granger with her eyes on the door, as though she were contemplating running. Draco gazed at her, watching the lines of her face changing with the wavering flames. He wondered what she was thinking, if she was regretting her decision or if she was regretting asking him to stay.

"We might miss Astronomy, you know," he said.

She sighed. "I know. You know, I was determined to finish out my day like normal. I was determined to not let this get in the way. To not let them win."

"Richter and Poe?"

She nodded and finally looked away from the door. Her head met her palms.

"I keep going over every interaction I've had with them, trying to remember where I could have gone wrong. What I could have done to make them want to do this to me. I gave them detention for a month in October, but I didn't think it had made them _this_ angry for _this_ long."

Draco tried not to get up and start pacing again. He felt an odious energy rippling through his body, telling him he needed to go to the castle Infirmary, where Granger's hexes probably sent them, and kill them in their beds.

How was he supposed to tell her what their real intentions were? How was he supposed to tell her how sick and depraved Richter was? How Poe would have helped him hold Granger down? Granger was ace with a wand, but against two men who were twice her size? Richter was the same height as Draco, but Poe was packed with Keeper's muscle from playing Quidditch on Slytherin's House team. If Poe pressed too firmly, squeezed too hard, or strangled too tight, Granger's bones would snap. Draco was sure of it.

She'd said she felt raped. She had no idea how close she'd come to it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling with his growing fury. The mental images of someone - _anyone_ with their hands on her made him want to rip throats out. As a Death Eater, he had been in many situations where people had gotten hurt. He'd been forced to turn his emotions off, to pretend he felt nothing while he watched people hexed, cursed, and killed.

But he couldn't turn his emotions off for her. Not for this.

"Malfoy?"

His eyes flew open, his brows held low over eyes that blazed.

"What?" he bit out through gritted teeth.

"You . . . Your magic."

He jolted and cast his gaze about, seeing that sparks were beginning to materialize around his body. He took a deep breath, feeling his magic swelling within his magical core, threatening to overwhelm him with more energy than he could stand. Exhaling in a controlled manner, he drew upon his Occlumency and began to build his walls. He laid the stones of magic down one by one around his anger, until the emotion was locked safely behind a barrier.

When he looked at her again, she blinked and gave him a wary once-over.

"Perhaps we should go to class," he said, "and you can handle this situation afterward."

"No," she said, waving both of her hands in an anxious manner. "I don't think I can."

"I thought you were worried about the mini-exam?"

She was quiet for a moment before she said, "I am. The Cupere, however, is not."

Draco found it barmy how easy it was after only a few hours to discuss the fact that Hermione Granger wanted to have an orgasm. He supposed the fact that he'd already given her five contributed to the fact that she was so calm, but he would be remiss if he acted like it wasn't completely _mad_ to talk about her sex drive so casually.

"One thing you'll learn about me, is that I'm not a patient witch," Granger said in that swotty tone she typically reserved for class time, Head duties, and the occasional correction when you were walking by and she happened to overhear you saying something incorrect. "If I have the means, I handle situations immediately. It's simple. The longer you let the chain hang around your throat, strangling you, the closer you get to asphyxiation."

Hearing a hint of something in her voice that went beyond the obviousness of her statement, he said, "Granger, I think that's something we all learned last year. The longer you let a wound fester, the deeper the rot consumes."

_The more you open yourself up to being controlled, the easier you'll hurt others. The more you hurt others, the slower you decompose. Soon, you'll tire of the decay and you'll beg for death._

_You'll tire of the presence in your core, and you'll drift, haunting the soil of the Earth until the only thing you see when you close your eyes are his red eyes. The only thing you'll feel is the pain of the Cruciatus. The only thing you'll be able to do is scream inside while no one notices or cares._

_You'll have nothing._

_And then you'll want control._

"It was difficult for you, yeah?" she said. If he wasn't mistaken, she sounded like she'd lost her breath. He almost couldn't hear her over the sounds coming from the fireplace. "Everything?"

Draco did not want to have this conversation. He couldn't.

"Things were what they were," he said, voice strained. "I made mistakes I wish I could take back, that I simply can't. I saw things I wish I hadn't." He drew up the little bit of courage he had and looked at her. "There were things I should have done that I didn't do."

Her gaze danced back and forth between his eyes, studying them.

"We all made mistakes. We all did things we shouldn't have done," she said.

A mirthless smile twisted up on his lips, a bitter testament to their past. "Easy for you to say, Granger. You chose the right side."

She didn't say anything. She merely stared at him until he was forced to look away. He couldn't handle the weight of her gaze. He couldn't bear it.

It felt like he wasn't invisible anymore.

Out of nowhere, she dropped a _bombarda_ on the room.

"Why didn't you identify Harry?"

Draco's breathing pace quickened and he stared so hard at the ground that it blurred. Panic bloomed in his chest, unfurling like an awakening flower. He felt a bit lightheaded.

"I did. I said, ' _yeah.'"_

"No," she said, tone clipped. "You said that about me. You identified me. But you didn't identify Harry. Why?"

This was too much. Too much pressure. He couldn't breathe.

He clenched his teeth and stood up.

"I wanted to." He laughed without humor. "Believe me, I _wanted_ to. My father had fallen out of favour. My mother was a shell of the witch she once was, and the fact that she was Aunt Bella's sister only made the Dark Lord feel displeased with my aunt. Identifying him would have pushed us back into his good graces. Identifying him would have fixed everything."

"So why didn't you?" She stayed sitting on the bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her facial expression was prim. Like she was waiting for his answer. Like she knew she was owed his answer.

And she _was_ owed it. She was owed everything from him. She deserved everything he had, and everything he had to give belonged to her for what he had done. He would pay reparations to her ten thousand times over.

If only he wasn't such a bloody coward.

"I thought about it," he said, still pacing. "I didn't recognize Potter, but the Weaselbee was a dead giveaway. It would have been imbecilic to pretend I didn't recognize him. But you? You were Potter's Mudblood. You were the one all the Death Eaters had been looking for. The Dark Lord asked me - _me_ to be the one to bring you in. ' _She will lead us to him,'_ he said. ' _She will be the one to bring us the war.'"_

Granger was silent. Draco couldn't look at her. Not when the slur was staining his face with guilt, making his eyes burn with shame.

He continued to pace, the heat from the fire alternating from the front of his body to the back.

"He wanted Potter, but he wanted you more. You were easier. You were like wounded prey. Just a girl." He put one hand on his hip and used the other to rub at his stubble again. "Hermione fucking Granger. Just a girl. That's a fucking joke. He would have been surprised."

"So you didn't identify me . . . Because you were scared for the Dark Lord's well-being?" Her tone was as icy as the icicles hanging from the roof of the hut outside.

"I wasn't scared for _him_ ," Draco snapped, whirling to face her.

She sat with her head held high, looking directly at him. Waiting. Pressing. Demanding.

"I was scared for my family," he continued, feeling like he was shrinking under the weight of that gaze. "I was scared for my parents and for myself."

"You're avoiding the answer to my question. Why didn't you identify Harry? I already know why you identified me - you hate me. But I don't understand why you chose not to identify -"

"I don't hate you," Draco said, his eyes wild with desperation. He took a step toward her. "Of all things you ever think about me, do _not_ think that anymore."

She closed her eyes. "What are you not telling me?"

 _Astute_ , he thought miserably. _She's astute. And intelligent as shit._

He didn't want to say it. He paced to the left.

It would terrify her, and she didn't need more to worry about. He paced to the right.

And yet even as his body fought against him with a spinning head, a pounding heart, and sweating palms, he found that the words were clawing their way out of his throat. They were desperate to see the light. They were desperate for her to hear them. For her to take them away from him so he wouldn't have to carry them alone anymore.

"I wasn't very high up in the ranks. I wasn't, but for some reason, he valued my ability to Occlude naturally. He liked to test it out - see how far he could take it. He'd _crucio_ me until my Occlumency failed, just to see how strong I was. I don't know if it was to punish my father, or if it was because he was interested in my abilities. I just know it fucking hurt."

Draco stopped, facing the fire with his arms crossed over his chest. He gazed into the flames, the memories haunting the forefront of his mind as much as the Cruciatus pain that ghosted along his aching veins. This would be the hardest part, but he had to say it. Even if it terrified him. Coward or not, she was owed at least this truth.

"He told me things. He told me things you can't even fucking _fathom_. He showed me things I only thought existed in nightmares, and he showed me what his future was going to look like. Said I was the only one who was given the privilege to know. Said I was the only one who would understand how important it was. He'd heard about me, and he'd heard about you, and he thought I was the only person who would understand his vision.

"He was going to tear you apart, Granger. He was going to slip inside your mind and rip it into shreds. He was going to do much worse to you than what my aunt did, and he was going to make it last. You were to be the example. Potter's girl, turned into the turning point. The beginning of his regime.

"And then, when you weren't you anymore - when your mind was in pieces and you were gone . . . When you were broken . . . He was going to take your magic and absorb it into himself. ' _The only part of them that matters_ ,' he said. And he wanted your magic first because when he was inside my head, he saw that the only person stronger than me at Hogwarts . . . Was you."

He felt like he could see it in the fire. Her screaming until her throat was raw. The loss of the Brightest Witch of Their Age. The death of happiness and joy and light.

The future that had never come to pass, but could have if he'd made the wrong decision.

"There's only so many people you can watch be tortured, or eaten alive by a snake at your dinner table before you realize that's not the world you want to live in."

He lifted his eyes from the fire and turned his head to gaze across the small space at her. Like it was Sixth Year and they were in Potions class talking about Amortentia all over again. Like Dumbledore was still alive and Draco still had a chance to change everything.

Her face was drawn. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes shimmered, though he couldn't tell if it was because of the fire, or if she was emotional. She had one hand over her heart and the other clenched in the fabric of her skirt.

"The reason I didn't identify Potter," he said, baring his teeth in an impassioned snarl, "is because when I looked at you, it took me the amount of time it takes to say the word ' _yeah'_ to feel responsible for you. Your life was in my hands. _Mine_. I identified you because I didn't realize it until after the word had left my lips. When she asked me if it was Potter, I already knew what I had to do to fix what I had done to you. I knew it was my last chance to make a decision. To do _something_. To keep you from ending up like the shell the Dark Lord wanted to turn you into."

It was only a year ago, but it felt like a decade. Back then, he'd felt responsible for Granger because he was the youngest member of the ranks. The only one still attending Hogwarts. Just like how he'd tried to defect at the end, before his misguided love for his parents pulled him back over to the Dark Lord's shadow, he'd felt that Hogwarts was his. His to defend. He hadn't been able to cast a single spell in his peers' directions.

And that was the way he felt for Granger, even back then. He was responsible for her. At the time, in his mind, she was his Mudblood. His Mudblood, and the thought of anyone other than him giving her trouble irritated him. Up until the moment Aunt Bella cast the first round of the Cruciatus. She tortured her, and after Draco watched her body bowing in agony and heard the anguished screams leaving her lips, she was no longer a Mudblood to him.

She was human.

Draco turned to face her fully. "You were _mine_ , Granger, and I wasn't going to let him hurt you. It took me five seconds to realize that and not identify him. And when my aunt - when she did what she did, I realized that you weren't the one with muddy blood. I made the wrong choice and I knew it was too late. I didn't even know if not identifying him would matter. I only knew that I just stood there when it really mattered."

Granger sat there in silence, her face vacant and listless as she processed his words. Draco felt his heart beating faster and faster with each passing moment. His stomach churned and flipped, dread pulling it in multiple directions. Had he said too much? Had he been too honest?

"Yours?" she squeaked out, her brows meeting.

_If only._

His cheeks flushed and he looked away, his courage gone in an instant. Gone, to be replaced by self-hatred.

Draco ran both of his hands through his hair and let them rest on the back of his neck. His eyes slid to meet hers across the miles and miles of past that kept them separated.

"Would you rather have been his?"

The silence was palpable, tangible in the way his anxiety was beginning to feel. He was telling her things he'd never before uttered to anyone. His father was the only person who knew the Dark Lord had shared information with him. His mother only knew he'd been routinely _crucio_ ed, and she was the person who'd kept the convulsion from lingering in his muscles. Now, Granger knew some of his darkest secrets.

What would she do with them?

"I don't belong to anyone," she said, and her eyes fell. "I've never belonged to anybody. No one's ever been able to tell me what to do, and I highly doubt Voldemort would have been able to gain my submission without a fight."

He flinched at the sound of his name and then he looked at the floor. Submission. Why did she have to use that word?

"It . . ." He let out a sigh of exasperation, directed at himself. "I was a different person back then. I'd been _crucio_ ed so many times that I was barely functioning. Seeing you snapped me back to Hogwarts. I saw you as my Mudblood, as disgusting as that is. And I am a selfish person, Granger."

"Selfish?"

He met her eyes across the room.

"More selfish than you can even imagine."

He held eye contact a second longer before he returned his gaze to the fire, lacing his fingers behind his head and tilting his chin up. He sighed.

If only she knew.

"I knew he was foul," Granger whispered, sounding angry. "Oh, I _knew_ he was foul. I assumed he would have plans in store for Muggle-borns. But not . . . I didn't know he knew who I was. I didn't know he had plans for _me_. We traveled all over the countryside, destroying him from the inside out piece by piece and all along, he planned on doing the same to us."

"What would you have done differently, had you known?" He scoffed. "There's nothing you could have done, Granger."

"I would have practiced my Occlumency more, had I known. Back then." She frowned, scooting on the bench until her back was against the wall. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. "I would have done something to be prepared. I've always been prepared for every situation. Until today."

Draco's heart wrenched and he dropped his hands to his sides. "No one's prepared for that kind of darkness. Not even you."

She started to speak, but then a confused look crossed her face. She cleared her throat and tried again to say something. A small, almost incredulous laugh left her lips.

Draco tilted his head to the side. "All right, Granger?"

"I'm just -" Her words died in her throat. Suddenly, she leaned forward where she sat, her hands curving around the front edge of the bench. Her eyes opened wide. "Merlin. I need a - a moment."

The Cupere. Amidst all of this talking, he'd almost forgotten that she was on a lust potion, and that that was the only reason why they were in Hagrid's Hut together at night, skiving off Astronomy.

"What time does the party start?"

She frowned. "Um . . . What?"

_Shite. She's losing lucidity._

"What time," he said, enunciating his words, "does the party start?"

"Oh . . ." She was looking at a point on his body somewhere below his nose and above his collar. "9:30."

"Then I guess we'd better get started."

She watched him walk over to the bench, her eyes following the movements of his hands as he unbuttoned his coat. He set it down and then stood up, combing his hair back again.

He tried not to feel nervous about what was going to happen. He felt strange, knowing that they were "done," and yet they were still in the damn hut. She was going to touch herself, and he was going to watch. It was absurd. It was a dream come fucking true, but it was _absurd_.

"This is for science," he said aloud, more to himself than to her.

"Mhm," she said, sliding closer, until she was sitting on his coat.

He froze when her knee bumped his. She was looking directly up at him, her eyes zeroed in on his face. He looked down into her eyes, seeing that her pupils were larger than normal.

"Granger," he asked, "are you -"

"Lucid? Hardly." Her voice came out husky. "It's like there's two separate parts of me. One that knows what's going on and can articulate; and one that wants to grab your tie and drag you down here."

The last word came out in a bit of a whine, and Draco felt the darkness within him rising to life. All-of-the-sudden, the fire seemed much too warm. He unbuttoned his vest, feeling guilty as she watched him do so like a hawk. He knew he should step away, but he didn't want to. Her hands lifted, almost reaching for him, and he raised his chin in warning on instinct.

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. She drew her hands back, using them to pull all of her curls to one side of her head.

"We don't have all night, Granger," he said, glancing down at his silver wristwatch. "It's 8:15. Are you sure you don't want me to wait outside?"

Her eyes went wider and she shook her head, looking positively fuckable with the juxtaposition of her shy facial expression and her makeshift hairstyle. Draco began to roll up the sleeves of his Oxford. She leaned back on her hands, her eyes never leaving his.

And then she bit her fucking lip.

Draco's knees went weak and he very nearly almost reached down to grab her by the hair and snog the lifeout of her. His jaw clicked, his eyes roving the length of her body.

"Should I turn around?" he asked.

Still leaning on her hands, she cocked her head like a puppy. "Back in Hogsmeade, you had the chance to hurt me. I told you to do whatever you wanted. If you were the old Draco Malfoy, you might have. But you didn't. You didn't and you really haven't taken advantage of the situation."

Silence. He averted his eyes.

"You haven't," she repeated.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyes dropped to scan his exposed forearms. He was glad he ensured to keep his Dark Mark glamoured, but she seemed more interested in the veins that were standing out against the backdrop of his skin than she was his hidden Mark.

"I think you and I have severely different ideas of what taking advantage looks like, witch," he said.

Her eyelids fluttered. He saw her throat bob. "I think . . . That it's my body. I decide who's taking - taking a-advantage. Can you say ' _witch_ ' again?"

Draco's jaw tightened further.

"Witch."

Her eyes closed and she tipped her head back. Draco watched with an almost angry expression as she shook her hair back until the ends brushed the bench.

"Bottom line is, Malfoy, I asked you to be here with me through . . . Through this, and you said you would s-stay. I want to do this now. Here. So we can . . . Can find out what the Hell is is going on. I'm eighteen. I'm not a b-bloody child. Now, are you sitting or standing?"

"Sitting or standing? To do what?"

She spread her legs a little bit, and sighed.

"To watch."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Songs of the Chapter: Crazy Dizzy - Lunadira,_ _Winter - PVRIS,_ _Dirt - Anavae,_ and _So Long Gone - VUKOVI_

x

They weren't going to make it to Astronomy.

That was something Draco was certain of. The sky outside was dark, with that sort of greyish haze that came when the snow was falling, and dinner was long over. By the time they were finished here, they'd have about thirty minutes to get back to the castle, up to the fifth floor, and into the Come and Go room to help the Head Boy and Prefects set up for the party.

After this, they were supposed to be done. He needed to remember that. He was only here to help her through this one last instance, and then she was going her own way. It wasn't likely she'd want him to hang around, helping set up a Valentine's Day party. Their little "discussion" about the potion was meaningless, in some ways. Because if they were never going to interact again, why would his potion theories matter?

But did it _have_ to be never? Why couldn't they interact? Why couldn't they just be friends?

_Because the last person for a friend that the Golden Girl needs is a waste of space like you._

Granger's hand slipped down the front of her body, going straight for the hem of her dress. She didn't seem nervous, at least from what Draco could tell. She did not seem at all bothered by the fact that he was standing three feet away with a front-row view.

"Why do you look so angry?" She gave him a strange look, all while she pulled her skirt up higher.

Draco followed the movement as it climbed, the lifting fabric revealing her thighs centimeter by centimeter.

"I don't look angry," he muttered, his brows knitted together low over his eyes. He kept his arms crossed tightly, standing rigid before her.

"You always look angry."

"That is incorrect," he said, glaring at her fingers as they plucked at the elastic waistband of the last thing standing between him and something he was quite frankly not good enough to see.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth, the white enamel flashing in the dimness of the firelight. "I don't know if I can do this. You look so brassed off. It's unsettling."

"I do _not_ look brassed off!"

She tilted her head, resting her hand on her bare thigh. Something about seeing her leaning back on her hand, legs spread slightly, hand on her skin, and her hair falling back like that made him want to scream. Especially with the scolding look she was giving him.

"It's true. Honestly, Malfoy. Every time I see you, you look proper livid. Class, the Great Hall, the corridors . . . You're always brooding, skulking around like a bloody haunt. It's ghastly."

"The only thing that's ghastly is your incessant need to ask thirty-five questions every time a professor breathes," Draco snarled, flames of ire licking their way up his chest and into his throat. "News flash, Granger: if you need to ask the professor thirty-five questions about how to charm a damn stool into a stoat, then perhaps Transfiguration isn't your forte."

Her eyes flashed. "For your information, I like to be well-informed about the things I'm learning. The only reason why I get top marks - _the_ top marks - is because I ask questions to study later."

"Oh? Then how is it that I was the only other person to match your marks? Or at least, the only other person who came in second?" His eyebrows shot up and he scoffed. "I slept through History of Magic for three years straight and still got an E."

She sat up fully, her hair still hanging back over her shoulders. Salazar, did he want to grab it and use it to yank her head backward. He'd kiss down into her mouth until she was weak.

"You cheeky prat," she hissed, her face contorted with affront. "Some of us aren't blessed with a photographic memory, then. Some of us actually have to work for the things we're given."

A red flag lifted in Draco's head. This was dangerous territory.

Draco uncrossed his arms. He clenched one fist at his side and pointed to himself with the thumb of his other. "I may not have had to work for the things I was given back then, but I worked my arse off for the things I have now." _Which is what? Everyone leaving you alone at school out of pure fear? Your parents ignoring your existence? Pining after a witch who clearly thinks you're worth less than a broken wand?_

"And I've worked my arse off for everything _I_ have now!" she cried, her hand lifting from her thigh and both sets of fingers held to the center of her chest. Her brow furrowed. "Ever since I came to Hogwarts, none of you have ever thought I was good enough to be one of you. I've hard to work harder, better, and more diligently than you just to be considered acceptable, and even then, I'm still not allowed to _be_ one of you. If I'm not Hermione the Muggle-born, I'm Hermione the Golden Girl. Too much, not enough. The only thread that seems to stay the same is that I'm just not enough for you. So sorry, then, that I ask too many questions. It must be _so difficult_ for you to have to hear my sodding voice all the time."

Draco felt his guilt mingling with his internalized rage. He felt a sudden and violent need to _avada_ himself right there, right then. Right in the center of Hagrid's hut. Granger could leave his body there to rot, and no one would care. It wasn't like his parents ever wrote him. It wasn't like Theo would miss him. Pansy would barely notice his absence.

He was a terrible person.

His walls came up, thicker and stronger than ever, around his heart. They mirrored the ones in his head, keeping her out as wholly and completely as he could. She needed to be pushed away. He didn't deserve to be around her.

To hear that the Golden Girl - the girl who had won an entire war with her intelligence and wit - thought she wasn't good enough for the wizarding world was unsettling. It filled him with nausea. Just like he did everyday, she put on a mask that no one could penetrate or see behind. Just like him, she hid how inadequate she felt. That similarity between them filled him with fear.

It was his fault.

"Look," he said with a sigh, trying to keep his voice at a calm, indifferent level, "I can go stand outside, if you'd prefer it. So you don't have to have a look at my _angry_ , _brooding_ face, yeah?"

"I've had to have a look at your angry, brooding face almost every day for the past seven-and-a-half years, Malfoy," she snapped with sarcasm poisoning her tone. She ran her fingers through her hair, tousling it. "What's ten more minutes?"

"I'm not interested in the smart mouth, Granger!" His words lashed like a whip through the air, a quick hiss that rivaled the fire's crackle. "Get to it, now, or I'm going to come over there and do it for you."

He regretted the words, but they were out there, and that was that. He wouldn't actually go over there and touch her like that; not unless she was fully rid of the Cupere. If she asked him that on any other day, he would be all for it. Today, however, was not the day.

She blinked and then gave him a once-over. It was cautious, but not full of fear. She wet her lips and, with a slow and steady movement, her hand once again began its descent.

"Now, do you want me to turn around, or not, Granger?"

She pulled her lips between her teeth again, averted her eyes, and shook her head.

He lifted his chin, some of his anger fading away at her silent admission. "Does it help? To have me here?"

She gave a slow, almost guilty nod. Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her knickers.

In that moment, Draco almost forgot how to breathe. He couldn't just stand there and watch. Not in front of her, not when it could be mortifying for them both. What if some other students decided the hut was a perfect place to find warmth in one another while everyone was asleep? What would they think if they said this?

In his panic, he quick-stepped forward, holding out a hand for pause.

"W-Wait! Wait."

She froze, looking up at him in confusion and alarm. Her hand stilled.

"What?" she breathed, her chest rising as she took a full, anxious breath.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and viewed her for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words halted in his throat as he struggled to figure out how to shift into an emotional state that he could control. He felt like it was hovering within him, somewhere beyond the reaches of his apprehension.

What typically worked when he was in the throes of panic?

Breathing. He began to breathe normally. In and out. In, hold, and then out.

"Malfoy," she said. He saw her elbow move.

The apprehension shifted. His gaze snapped to meet hers.

"I said _wait_."

A command. Steady breathing, and now a command. He was getting closer.

She did so, hunching her shoulders up. "Should I . . . Should I take my hand -"

"Don't move unless I tell you to." He fixed his face into a stern expression.

Breathing. Commands. What was next?

Directions. She was good at following rules, directions, regulations. He was good at laying, giving, and setting them.

"I'm going to lock the door and put wards up," he said. "Wouldn't want anyone walking by and seeing this, now would we? Head Girl putting on a display for the Dark Lord's Prodigy. I imagine it would cause concern."

She said nothing, still looking uncharacteristically cowed by his sudden change in disposition.

Draco kept his gaze trained upon her while he flourished his wand, casting _colloportus_ on the door and a Disillusionment charm on the windows respectively. The lighting made it impossible to see if she was blushing, but he imagined she had to feel somewhat strange sitting there on the bench with her hand where it was. He then walked past her and set his wand on the table. Then, as he walked back over, he pulled at the knot of his tie to loosen it.

The apprehension was gone. This - taking control - was what he knew. It was what he felt comfortable with.

Draco stopped directly in front of her. He sank to his knees, forcing her to tilt her head to look down at him. There was a certain measure of curiosity in her eyes, but he could see quite clearly in the firelight that her pupils were blown. They were so wide that black ink had eclipsed the honey. The potion was in full effect.

The dark part of him that needed this control had awoken. He was no longer afraid.

His hands rested flat on the bench on either side of her hips. He leaned forward, until his torso was between her legs, her thighs at his hips. His heart thumped steadily in his newfound confidence. Draco cocked his head to the side, his gaze flicking between her lips to her eyes.

"How do you want it, Granger?" _Because I'll give you whatever you want._

"I - what?"

Draco grabbed her hips, over the fabric of the dress' bunched-up skirt, and dragged her forward on the wooden bench. He pulled until her lower body was flush with his, and her eyes were as wide as saucer plates. Her hand became trapped between them, the back of it pressed to his belt buckle.

" _How_ do you want it?" he repeated, digging his thumbs into the dips of her pelvis.

Granger's mouth fell open in a loud gasp as the sudden, surprised jerk of her hips jostled her hand a bit. A predatory smirk curved up on Draco's lips as her brows came together on her forehead in an almost puzzled expression.

"I know how you want it," he purred, his gaze traveling down the front of her body, coming to rest on her knickers.

He leaned forward further, until his face was near her ear. He let go of one hip and moved his hand up to her hair. With careful fingers, he pushed her curls behind the lobe and then wrapped his hand around the back of her neck - all without letting his skin touch hers.

She gasped again, a quick inhalation. He tightened his hold on her.

"You want it soft, don't you?" he murmured, nodding his head as though he were disagreeing with a previous dispute. He looked into her eyes, which were now half-lidded with desire. "Gentle. Do it slow."

Her hand was moving now. Up and down, as much as she could manage with how tightly he was holding her to his body. She didn't seem to have any of her previous fury remaining. Her lips looked full as she parted them as if to speak, however the only sound that left her mouth was a small sigh.

Draco leaned his head towards the other side of her neck, which became more exposed by the second as he neared it. When his lips were a hair's-breadth away from her pulse, he blew a slight stream of cool air upon her skin.

Her hand moved faster.

Draco moved his face further up, until his lips were pressed against the hair at the side of her head. He placed his left hand on the bench beside her, keeping his right hand wrapped around her hipbone. He closed his eyes and tried not to become overwhelmed at the feeling of her hand moving, moving, moving. Stroking against herself in the way he would have liked to. The way he likely never would.

A small moan. Hips writhing underneath his right hand. Head falling to the side. Chest heaving.

She was getting closer.

Draco was partially inclined to allow it. But he knew that the moment he did, it was over. Whatever this was, would be over.

He'd go back to being alone.

He gripped her hips tighter and pulled her so firmly against him that she could no longer move. She let out a cry of dismay, wriggling her hips desperately. He felt her fingers twitching in her knickers, felt it against the front of his trousers beneath his belt, and he gritted his teeth. He glared out into the darkness of the hut over the top of her head.

"Stop, Granger," he growled.

"No," she said, sounding desperate. "Please don't . . . I can't. I need - to move. I -"

Draco didn't move, instead choosing to grip her hip even firmer. The sound of her begging him to allow her to do this was exactly what he wanted to hear.

"I told you to do it slowly," he said into her hair, a hint of warning to his tone.

"But I don't want to do it that way."

"I _want_ you to do it that way," he said in a tone that was as docile as it was dangerous. "Cheeky."

She scoffed, but when he lifted his left hand from the bench and began to trail his fingertips up along the curve of her waist, the sound seemed to die instantly in her throat. He let them drift all the way to the side of her breast, and then up to her neck again. He combed his fingers through her hair, the silken strands sliding easily through his fingers. He relished in the shiver that ran the length of her body.

"Slow down," he said again, "or else I'm leaving."

A sound of frustration burst forth. Draco almost let out a laugh.

Her hand twitched between them again, moving however it could in such a confined area. Draco remained flush to her body, enjoying the feeling of her struggle. The sound of her gasps in his ear. The wanton way she ground her hips against her own fingers.

"You're doing such a good job," he said in a soft voice, stroking her hair in an absentminded manner. "Just keep going."

The sound she made at his words was Heavenly.

Draco's stomach twisted and his fingers curled tight within her hair, pulling until her head fell back. As soon as her throat was completely exposed, her back arched and she let out a moan that echoed around the hut without shame. Her body went rigid as he struggled with his own desire to shove her onto her back on the bench. She was allowing him this one small thing; he couldn't allow his own weakness to ruin it.

She spread her legs wider.

"No," Draco said, lifting his hand from her hip. He used the hem of her skirt as a barrier so he could press her thigh against his side again. He like the feeling of it, warm and solid. "Keep them where they were. The other one. Come on."

She whimpered, her other leg remaining open. "Please, Malfoy. I can't without . . . I need _more_."

"No, you don't," he cooed, his nose nuzzling into her hair. "I promise. It feels good, doesn't it?"

She nodded, but he didn't like that. He gripped her hair and yanked her head back again. She gasped, her eyes glassy, mirroring the fire in the fireplace. Her hand began to move again, noticeably slower this time, and he could hear how aroused she was above the fire's popping.

"Answer me."

" _Mm_ , yes," she said in a tiny voice. "Yes."

He drew his head back, his entire body thrumming with pent-up energy. Keeping her head pulled back, he gazed down into her eyes. His stomach coiled and twisted tighter. He ran his other hand down the front of her body, past her navel, and then he paused to grip the folds of her skirt. She moaned, her eyelids fluttering.

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Tell me what you want."

She rolled her hips forward, and then the sounds of her hand at her lower body increased. The movement of her hand became firmer and more angled.

Draco glanced down between them and nearly passed out. Her fingers were inside of her body - it was clear to see - and they seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Her hips thrust to meet her palm with a near-frenzy, obviously with no heed to his earlier instructions. He watched for a moment, nearly letting out a curse as she cried out even while he held her head back.

"Tell me what you _want_ , Granger," he said, the words falling out, tripping over themselves in a rush.

"Tell me . . . What you - what you said t-today," she said in a strangled voice.

"What? What did I say?"

"About Valentine's. _Please_ \- please, about -"

He cut her off, his eyes burning down into hers. "Which part, precious?"

She whimpered again. The sounds quieted, but her eyes rolled up into her head and her hand continued to move. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and the thrusting of her hips slowed to a roll on the ocean that could be mistaken for nothing other than her fingers swirling against her pearl. She was shy, that much he could tell. And while he wanted to demand the answer, he figured he could be gracious. Just this once.

Draco let out a ragged breath. He didn't think he could hold her hair tighter. He put his mouth close to her ear again and growled into it. "Was it the part where I said a witch deserves to be fucked wherever she wants? Or the part where I told you if you were my witch, I'd worship your body?"

When she exhaled, it was stuttered. "Yes."

"Slow _down_ ," he said.

She let out a sob. "Please let me go faster. Please, please."

"No." He looked down again, watching.

His reasons were so entirely selfish that it was sickening to him.

Her foot slid against the ground and he heard her give a desperate whine. Still, her fingers only made small, slow circles.

_Say whatever you want about her, but she's damn good at following instructions._

Her back arched again and her legs spread open. She let out a pitiful moan when she seemingly remembered his instructions and returned them to clutch around his hips.

"Good," he said. "Come on. Tell you what?"

Even though he had a vice like hold on her hair, she turned her face towards him. She panted for breath, her hips stilling as her fingers continued their slow assault. He looked down at her, watching her gaze flit all over his face with black eyes and something else he couldn't discern.

Was she lucid? She seemed -

"Tell me what you want to do to me," she whispered. "Tell me what it is . . . That you think will make me want to run."

Draco stared at her face. He thought back to the row they'd had in the snowy street of Hogsmeade. He thought of how he'd asked her if she was scared of him. He thought of how she said she wasn't.

"Spread your legs as wide as you can," he said.

An order. One that she followed with little hesitation, her gaze remaining locked onto face. She moaned and he saw her fingers drawing quick, firm circles beneath her knickers. Her obedience coupled with the fact that he felt so strongly for her swirled together in one raging inferno inside of him. He felt seconds away from insanity.

He snapped.

"I want to bend you over everything in the damn hut," he growled, letting go of her hair so he could run his hands down her sides. "This bench. The armchair. The table. The _fucking_ table."

Her other hand slipped in to join the first one, and Draco nearly kissed her. Her spine arched up, her head remaining tilted back of its own accord. She moaned loudly, nearly sobbing with need. His mind whirled, knowing that her desire was directed towards him. Whether it was with the potion or not, he wanted to memorize it.

His Occlusion had failed. His walls were in shambles. His hands were wrapped around her waist, pushing and bruising. His hair was falling into his eyes and he didn't even bother to push it back. He could only watch as she pleasured herself as though it were his dying wish to see her do it.

"More," she choked out. He saw her throat bob where the firelight bathed it in an orange glow. " _More."_

"I want to hear you whine for me," he breathed out, the secret floating out into the air with innocuous intent. "I want to hear you whining, begging for me."

When she gasped but her hands kept their relentless movements up, he breathed a laugh.

"You would do that for me, wouldn't you? You'd beg in that sweet voice of yours."

"Malfoy." She lifted her head and he saw that her eyebrows had pulled together. She looked almost concerned.

"Wouldn't you?"

She looked down, her frown lines deepening. "Yes. Yes, I - I would."

She sounded surprised with herself, but it was nothing compared to the explosion of feelings that detonated within Draco's heart. He had no idea what to make of them, nor how to handle them. He just knew he wanted her to come, and he wanted her to know every single thing he wanted to do to her right at that very second.

In one fluid movement, Draco sat down on the bench. He pulled down her skirt on her leg to cover it, grabbed onto her thigh, and pulled her to straddle his lap. She yelped, barely managing to stay upright on her knees with her hands down her knickers, steadied by his hands on her hips. She looked down into his eyes, which he knew blazed with the fires of lust that burned within him.

"Keep going," he hissed through his teeth, his gaze falling to her knickers.

She withdrew one hand from her knickers as she teetered again. Almost losing her balance, she smacked her hand against the front of his shoulder

He gave no fucks.

"Keep _going_." He stared at her lower body. Her skirt had fallen down, save for in the front where it was still bunched up, part of it tucked into her knickers. He wet his lips, watching as she resumed her movements with some hesitation. He felt her hand against his shoulder faintly, his focus so honed in that he didn't even care. He was rock hard in his trousers. "It's all right. Just keep going. Unless you want to stop . . . ?"

Granger moved her hands slow, then fast, and finally, so fast that the sounds were apparent in the room. Her hips undulated in contrast to the rapid swirling of her fingers, and he felt her clenching the fabric of his shirt tightly in her other hand. She threw her head back, her hair a curtain around her body that fell back to reveal breasts that moved with the force of her zeal.

"Talk," she wailed. "Please. Talk."

Draco couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I want to taste every inch of you," he groaned, digging his fingers into her back. He watched her fuck herself the way she wanted to, waiting for the moment when she finally came undone just for him. "I want to run my tongue through you. Fast and then slow, so you can't catch a fucking breath. I'd hold you down, so you can't escape it. I'd make you come on my tongue so hard that it almost hurts. Would you like that, precious?"

"Oh, _Gods_ , please. Please do it. Please." Her fingers curled even tighter in his shirt and her hand twisted to the side. Would she rip his shirt? Salazar, he hoped she ripped his shirt. "I want to - w-want to -"

His hands slid from her back to her hips."Want to what, to come?"

She nodded frantically. " _Mm_ \- on your - _ah -_ tongue. _"_

Draco blinked, feeling as though she'd just hexed him or slung a _petrificus totalus_ in his direction. His eyes traveled up and down her body one last time, his heart racing.

"Do you want me to make you come?"

She nodded again.

He arched an eyebrow.

She righted the angle of her head again and looked into his eyes with an unspoken plea. Dismay thundered in his chest when he saw that her eyes seemed cloudy, and the lucidity he'd thought he'd seen earlier was gone. Perhaps it had never been there in the first place. Would she even remember the things they'd said? How lucid had she been the last time? The time before it?

He should have guarded his heart better.

Draco slowly placed his hands where he wanted them - in two different spots just in case the potion decided to be finicky again. He placed one hand on the middle of her bare outer thigh at the same time that he wrapped his other hand over the junction where her shoulder met her neck.

"Come for me," he said, his voice gentler than it had been all evening.

It took three more swipes of her fingers, and then she came with a loud moan. She shivered and convulsed with her release, sucking her lower lip in-between her teeth and allowing her eyes to roll up into her head. Draco couldn't help but groan again as he watched her body wracked with ecstasy, his shirt being twisted even further. She withdrew her other hand from her knickers, placing it on his other shoulder where it twisted his shirt. He brought both hands to her legs as she lowered herself until she was sitting astride him and then, before she'd even finished, he dragged her forward until she was pressed against his trousers.

She was beautiful, and he hoped she could feel how much he wanted her.

"I want a taste," he breathed out, and then he grabbed her wrist.

"What are you . . . ? Wait -"

Her eyes widened as he pulled her fingers into his mouth. The taste of her arousal - simultaneously musky and sweet - exploded on his tastebuds. She cried out, her body jerking forward and her hips writhing against his as another orgasm overtook her immediately after the second. Draco forced himself to remain still as he popped her fingers out between his lips.

"You taste _so_ fucking good," he growled. He ran his tongue lewdly up the length of them, his gaze locking with her own hazy one. He knew the potion was likely making this even more intense, his skin touching hers, but he didn't care. This was it. This was the last time.

"Please, Malfoy," she keened, "Oh, please, please, pl - _ah_!"

Her head fell back and she peaked a third time, sobbing with indiscernible emotions as she tried to pull her hand away from his wicked tongue. Words he couldn't make out left her lips in a stream of urgent whispers, which he held on to for as long as he could before it became too much for her. She pulled on her hand again.

Draco allowed her to. Her body went limp atop his lap as it convulsed through the last waves. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing his walls back up before she came to her senses and inevitably stabbed his heart with her haste to get away from him. He hated himself for this. He went too far.

"Do you want me to . . . Um . . . Touch you?"

Draco's eyes flew open and he yanked his hands away from her body, holding them up in surrender by his face. He stared up at her in shock.

"What? No, Granger. Of course not."

She looked disappointed.

But that could have just been his imagination.

He grabbed her gingerly by the hips and lifted her off of him. She moved until she was sitting on the edge of the bench. Rattled, he stood up and walked around to the table to pick up his wand. His heart thudded with his heightened emotions. He hated the taste of her on his tongue. He didn't deserve it.

_I'm disgusting._

He waved his wand, casting all of the necessary spells with a quiet voice. Concealment on his trousers, cooling charm on his body, retrieval of his coat, and banishing of the wards.

"It wouldn't have worked without you," she said from the bench. She didn't turn around to face him.

 _So that's why it took so long_.

"I tried," she said. "It just kept building and building, but never going anywhere. Until you touched me."

Draco was silent for a bit, tapping the tips of his fingers against the table in thought. His coat hung over her arm. "I don't understand this potion."

"Neither do I," she said, sounding wistful.

"Maybe we aren't meant to. Maybe it just is." He wanted to feel hopeful, but it felt like trying to lift a boulder with his bare hands. His gaze fell to the tabletop again.

He heard the floorboards creaking, and then she was standing right beside him. He lifted his head and looked down at her. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her hair looked a bit limp, her fringe plastered to her forehead with lingering beads of sweat.

"I'm sorry that I touched you," she said, searching his eyes for something.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you," he said, for more reasons than one.

If she realized it, she didn't show it.

"You didn't hurt me," she said in a soft voice. She looked away, her gaze bouncing down to his rumpled shirt. "In fact, my mind feels clearer than it has since breakfast. And I feel more secure than I have in years."

He slipped his hands into his pockets, gazing over the top of her head at the fireplace. "How many times . . . Exactly? Just to be sure."

"Three," she said. "It seems the potion eradicates the need for recovery between each one."

"Hm." He nodded.

Their eyes met again.

One heartbeat passed, the tension between them stretched tight. Draco opened his mouth. He was going to ask her if she'd changed her mind, if she wanted to continue this - whatever it was, if she fancied him, if she wanted him to kiss her, if she -

"We should get back," she said.

His sadness felt all-encompassing. He hid it behind ironclad walls in his heart. "What will you do about . . . It?"

"Manage," she said, tone clipped. "I'll just keep to myself, help set up the party, and once I'm sure everything is going well, I'll tell the Prefects and my friends that I've a need for rest."

"And if you lose lucidity?"

"I won't." She shrugged into her coat dress, buttoning the buttons with swiftness. "I'll Occlude and I've got a couple Calming Draughts back in my room. Are we late for the party set-up?"

Draco checked his wristwatch, feeling so low that the movement was slow. "No. We've got ten minutes to get there."

"So, I only have to make it an hour or so, and then I can just lock myself in my dorm." She pulled out her wand and put out the fire, plunging them into darkness broken only by the moon and stars shining in from outdoors.

He put his coat on, the sudden bout of depression weighing down his body. Granger stood near the door, her hand on the knob, watching him with pursed lips.

"Will the school suffer if they don't see you looking fashionable and proper in your coat, Malfoy? We're going to be late!"

_We, we, we._

Draco's irritation resurfaced and he deliberately slowed his movements. He conjured a mirror that worked regardless of lighting, using it to ensure that his hair was pushed back just right. He popped his collar and tried not to look away from himself out of sheer disgust, maintaining a smirk for Granger's sake.

"Yes," he said.

_Maybe she won't think anything of it if I come to the party set-up?_

"Let's _go_ , poncy!" Granger clapped her hands.

Draco glared at her, waving a hand to banish the mirror. He walked to where she was now holding the door open. Leaning down closer, his allowed his smirk to turn a bit cruel.

"Watch it, Granger."

She arched an eyebrow. Her tone was sardonic as she said, "Yes, _sir_."

Draco straightened immediately.

Now was not the time to explore her usage of the word " _sir_." They were going to be late.

* * *

When they arrived at the castle, after a walk full of electric silence, they headed straight for the moving staircases.

The corridors were empty, save for the occasional Seventh Year straggling towards their common room before the party started. She and Draco had checked their pockets to ensure the shrunken barrels were still intact, and that was the extent of their conversation until they got onto the first staircase.

At one point, Granger nearly doubled back to get her Calming Draughts, but Draco had stepped in front of her to stop her, reminding her that they were already almost late. He still felt daft for saying _"we_ ," minutes later. He swore to spend the rest of the evening mentally Bludgering himself for not remembering that after dropping off the barrels, he was either staying for the party's sake, or he was going back to his dorm, never to interact with Granger outside of academia again.

"For what it's worth," she said as their staircase floated up to the second floor, "I _am_ sorry about what you went through with Voldemort."

Draco felt his panic returning, anxiety clawing at him, and he stared out at the countless sleeping portraits. He watched them until they looked like blurry smudges.

"It's all right."

She turned to look up at him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. Draco saw that she had bits of snow still clinging stubbornly to her hair, as though they were desperate to stay near her as long as they could. He studied them. Which one was he? The one near her ear? The one near her forehead?

He felt like he was all of them. Like he'd floated up the sky at the thought of her, blown himself up to rid her of his plague, and then rained down upon her so he could blanket her with the only thing he had to give: his coldness.

She reached up and ran a hand through her hair. The snowflakes dissipated.

"You did something, you know."

Snapped out of his reverie, his gaze moved to meet hers. She was smiling, a tiny quirk of her lips upward. She had no idea he'd just melted.

They were interrupted as the staircase docked. They walked in relative quiet to the next set. Draco's mind buzzed with activity. What did she mean? What was she talking about?

They got on a set of stairs that was going up to the third floor.

"You said you stood there and did nothing." Her eyes danced between his left and right, still searching for something he might not ever know. "But you didn't. You did something. It was a small something, but it was enough."

"And what, pray tell, did I do?"

Staircase: docked. Unlikely pair: interrupted.

Draco gritted his teeth in agitation, pushing his fingers through his mussed hair. They got on a staircase to the fourth floor.

"You decided to care about me," she said the moment the staircase started moving. "And whether it was me you cared about, others like me, or just caring about something other than yourself, you still did something at great personal risk to yourself. Even if it was because you thought of me as yours in whatever bizarre way you did as my bully, you still did _something_. That's not cowardice; that's bravery."

 _Thunk_.

The staircase docked, and Draco had been standing so still that it jolted him. He moved with a fog-filled head. Beside him, Granger wore a faint smile, as if she were pleased with herself for some reason.

It was the final staircase. The fifth floor looked like it was miles away. He leaned against the banister, facing the center. Granger did the same. She placed her hands behind her back. He curved his around the banister at his hips and crossed one ankle over the other.

"Brave isn't exactly a trait attributed to me," Draco murmured.

"Traits aren't inherent," she replied. "They're learned."

He lifted his eyes from the steps below their feet and looked at her. "And you're saying you think I've learned new traits?"

She eyed him for a moment. "I think you've learned many new traits. I stand by what I said, Malfoy. You _have_ changed. In war, victories aren't won by one person with a sword. They're won by the countless choices that we make. The small things, like helping people we might not get along with, or choosing not to identify the person with the best chances. You made a small choice, and it had a huge impact. For the war, for Harry, and . . ." She took a breath, but in true Gryffindor fashion, did not avert her gaze. ". . . And for me."

He held eye contact for a moment longer.

He didn't know what she was trying to say, nor why she looked so shy all-of-the-sudden, but he felt like he could smile if he wanted to. He'd done something good. He'd done something good for her. Even though he hadn't helped her when his aunt was hurting her, he'd made a small choice that ended up mattering to her. To someone.

For the first time since he returned home from Hogwarts to find out that the Dark Lord was living in the Manor, he didn't feel like dying.

Draco's hand reached out, wrapped around the back of her head, and pulled her against him. She gave a small squeak of surprise, her arms hanging down at her sides. He dropped his head down to kiss the curls at the top of her head. His lips lingered, as much a thank you as the kiss was a good-bye, knowing what was coming when the party set-up was complete. He kept his hand on the back of her head, his other hand coming up to cup the side of her neck over her hair. He inhaled her scent as deeply as he could. Her hands didn't move from her sides, and even though he knew she was respecting his rules, he sort-of wished she was a bit more disrespectful.

The staircase docked. It wouldn't move until they stepped off.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you, too," she said, voice muffled against the breast of his pea coat.

He wrapped his left arm around her, right above her shoulders, not moving his other hand nor his lips from her head. He wanted to hold her one more time.

She didn't seem to mind.

"About what happened with the Dark Lord," she continued. "With the Cruciatus. I wish that . . . I wish that someone had been there for you. Someone who could get you through it. Someone that cared."

He wanted her to stop talking. Her words were like ice picks, carving him open to find the person he'd hidden within. The person who deserved to be frozen in the winter for as long as it took for him to make amends for every wrong he'd ever done. She was stabbing into him, freeing him before he was ready, and he didn't like feeling so exposed. His heart was racing as he kissed the top of her head again.

Her hair was so soft, her body molded against his like a tight glove.

The staircase still hadn't moved.

"I don't blame you for what happened with Bellatrix Lestrange." She just kept talking. Kept stabbing. Kept carving. "When I think back on it, you were the only person I knew in the room. You said you felt responsible for me. Well, I think I felt safe with you there. The fact that you couldn't look at me - it didn't make me angry. It showed me you finally saw me as human. I don't know if this is true, and I don't think you know, either, but . . . When it got really bad - the pain - I . . . I just told myself you would save me. That there was no way you would let her kill me. Maybe it was naive, but . . . I don't blame you."

_I don't know if I would have, and it kills me. If it happened now? I'd do anything to save you. I'd kill my own aunt. I'd raze the Manor to the ground. I'd destroy everything to get to you._

_Before today, I only knew you as the witch I would never deserve._

_Now, I know you as the witch I will spend the rest of my life trying to earn._

_Even if you're never mine._

He could do it. He could kiss her. Right now. If he wanted to.

She was on a lust potion, yeah, but she was lucid. She was discussing things, had been making arguments and conjectures all day. If he kissed her, he would freeze back up and go back to being Malfoy. Back to being the Dark Lord's Prodigy. Ex-Death Eater. The Boy Who Stood There.

If he kissed her while she was on the Cupere, he would return to the place of the coward.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head a third time, slightly closer to the side of her head. Then, another one in her hair where her ear was. Her breathing hitched, and then he had a hand on either side of her head. She lifted her chin just as he pulled his face back far enough to look down into her eyes.

Could she see how he felt in his?

"Hermione! There you are!"

Footsteps came _clack_ ing down the hall as one of the Seventh Year Prefects came dashing down the corridor to the staircases. She was waving one arm enthusiastically, wearing a fancy pink Muggle dress like Granger's, with heels that were much too high to be comfortable. Her blonde ringlets bounced around her chin as she ran.

Granger jumped away from Draco. She was on the landing in moments, taking his heart with her, and his last opportunity to be the boy he used to be. His last opportunity to take something that he didn't deserve. His last opportunity to be selfish.

Salazar, he fucking hated himself.

"Francia!" Granger gushed, rushing to greet the Hufflepuff. "Have you already started setting up?

"Yes, we have," she said, her baby blue eyes twinkling. "We just need you to check over everything since the Head Boy hasn't shown up. Between you and me, I think he and Luna are _total_ space cases. But I love them. Anyway, did you bring the drinks?"

Granger reached into her coat pocket and held up one of the miniature barrels. Francia clapped her hands. Draco stepped off of the staircase and onto the landing, going to stand behind Granger.

Francia's eyes slid past Granger's head and her smile faded. "Oh. You were with . . . Draco Malfoy. Are you okay?"

Draco felt the pang of shame and hurt that he always felt when he saw the way people looked at him. This was exactly what he had feared. This was exactly why he wasn't good enough to be around Granger. The thought of becoming friends with her was a joke. _He_ was a joke.

He looked away, reaching one hand up to comb his fingers through his hair.

"He helped me get the drinks from Hogsmeade," Granger said, as though she hadn't even noticed Francia's borderline grimace. "I think he may help us with set-up. Is there anything he can do?"

Draco's grey eyes drifted back to meet Francia's, silently challenging her to say no out of pure defensiveness.

Francia stared for the span of two seconds before her face split into a grin. "Absolutely! I haven't quite gotten my levitation spell down - never have, really. Not since First Year. And there's just _so_ many lights to put up. It's really difficult for Ichiro to put them up on his own. Malfoy can help with that."

Granger turned around, and suddenly both sets of eyes were looking up at him. His heartbeat pounded faster for a second out of anxiety.

"Is that all right?" Granger asked, her smile small and cautious. "Can you help with the lights?"

"There's only fifteen or so minutes left," Francia added, and her smile looked genuine. "Pretty please?"

Draco lowered his chin and arched his eyebrow at Granger.

"Do _you_ want me to help with the lights?"

She eyed him. "Do you _want_ to help with the lights?"

"I don't know," he said, his tone strained. " _Do_ I?"

The tension was thick. Thick enough to slice. Draco wanted to stay by her side all night, if she'd have him. But he'd screwed up and caused a huge tizzy in Hogsmeade. She'd said outside the hut that it had to be over, so it was supposed to be over.

Francia looked from one to the other, lifting up a finger and pointing to each in turn. "Are you two shagging?"

Draco coughed on the air he was breathing. Granger turned as red as a beetroot. They looked anywhere but at each other.

"No, Francia!" Granger cried. "Why would you say something like that? Merlin, you are so blunt."

 _And you're not?_ he wanted to exclaim, remembering all the things she'd said to him today.

"No, I'm not," she said. "I'm honest. I'm a Hufflepuff, remember?"

Granger sighed, shaking her head. "No, we are not shagging. Now, Malfoy, are you coming? I could really use your help setting up the drink barrels, too. We'll need to conjure some taps so we can set the self-filling charm."

The look in her eyes was as sincere as he'd ever seen.

"I suppose I can spare the time," he said in a haughty tone, scraping both of his hands back through his hair out of habit. "Lead the way."

Draco would help them with the party set-up, and then he would go down to the Slytherin common room to go to bed. When he awoke, everything would go back to normal. After he went to McGonagall and gave his side of the story of Richter, Poe, Granger, and the Cupere, it would be over, for her sake.

It had to be.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Songs of the Chapter:_ _Carousel - Clock Opera,_ _Fresh Laundry - Allie X,_ _Speak Softly - Picturesque,_ _Black Swan - BTS,_ _Euphoria - Jonny Craig,_ and _Frozen Creek - Circa Survive_

x

Draco's eyes widened.

The Come and Go room - or, the Room of Requirement, as Granger had called it that afternoon - looked nothing like the way it had in his Sixth Year. It was because of that that he was finally able to relax. Due to his anxiety over being in that room again, by the time they made it up to the Fifth floor, he was already unbuttoning his coat to award himself some extra air.

The castle had chosen to provide them with a lounge-style room that was large enough to accommodate the fifty-odd Seventh and Eighth Year students, complete with a dance floor and spiral staircase leading up to a large loft on the right side of the room. From what he could tell, the loft contained several chaises, most of which looked to be made of velvet. Below the loft, there was something that he could only describe as a couch hole in the floor made of the same material, the cushions strewn with heart-shaped pillows. The left side of the room contained a makeshift bar and a few round tables with two chairs at each one.

Everything was white and red, which Draco was unsurprised about, and completely bedecked from top to bottom in floral decor. There were rose petals strewn about the floor, likely charmed to stay clean and intact. Confetti hearts made of pink rained down from the white ceiling, avoiding the crystal chandeliers, and disappearing before they reached the top of Draco's head. There were candles everywhere, lights draped about, and the entire room smelled of vanilla.

"Wow," Granger said. "Just . . . This is -"

"Nightmare-inducing," he said. "I sort-of . . . Want to die, I just . . . ?"

"You know?" She turned to look up at him in curiosity. "I've learned a lot about you today. Even though you're rather quiet, you are _very_ dramatic."

Draco fixed her with a glare. "Watch your mouth, little girl."

Francia cleared her throat. "Well, _little girl_ , Ichiro's probably up in the loft trying to work on the lights up there. Why don't you send Malfoy up there, and then you and I can set up the drink barrels?"

"I'm surprised there's more lights to be hung," Draco muttered. He caught sight of Granger flicking her wand to send her coat into a closet by the bar that he hadn't noticed before, so he followed suit. No wonder some students called it the Room of Requirement.

Francia pursed her lips and gave him a once-over. "The posher, the better. Isn't that right, Mr. I-Eat-Galleons-for-Breakfast?"

Draco smirked, sliding into his everyday role as easily as a snake sheds its skin. "I wouldn't set foot at a party that had any less than 3,000 lights."

"Then, it's a good thing we purchased 3,500." Granger spread her hands wide. She grinned at Francia.

Francia grinned back, and then Draco watched with a raised brow as they fell into a fit of giggles. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway.

"Have you quite finished being cute. Granger?" he taunted, lips remaining twisted into their smirk.

Granger turned to face him, her smile in the process of fading. She regarded him with a strange expression, another one of her unreadable ones, and her eyes narrowed.

"Cute?" Francia said. Then, she put her hands on her hips. "What if I want the pet name, too?"

Draco felt blood rushing to his cheeks. _Damn Hufflepuffs._ Embarrassed, he straightened in the door frame and strode into the red-and-white room with purpose. The door slowly swung shut. He cast his gaze about.

"Where's your damn Seventh Year, _little girls_?"

"He's up there." Francia walked past him, pointing up to the large loft that spanned the right side of the room. She then cupped her hands around her mouth. "Ichiro! _Ne_ _,_ Ichiro- _kun_!"

A boy with jet black hair poked his head out from the edge. " _Hai_ _?"_

Francia spoke a stream of Japanese words to him, which sounded very angry, and a look of affront crossed his face. He began to wave his hands about, shouting back down to her in Japanese. They went on for a bit, until Draco began to feel awkward. When Ichiro began to point at Draco and roar more angrily, Draco's heart sunk. He didn't fancy working with yet another person who despised him for his family name.

Granger came up to stand beside him. He jolted when her arm brushed his sleeve. _Did she feel anything from that?_

She shot him a look and then turned her attention back to the Prefects, who were still yelling. She began to yell, too, also speaking fluent Japanese. Draco was powerless to stop his jaw from hanging down.

He knew she was a swot, but Salazar be damned. _What the fuck?_

Draco stood there scratching the top of his head, listening to three nutters squawking at one another. This wasn't exactly what he'd planned for the evening, standing here listening to Granger speaking another language in a state of absolute fury. Then again, nothing had gone the way he expected it to today.

Francia threw her hands up into the air and stormed off towards the bar.

Ichiro scowled, waving a dismissive hand. He disappeared back further onto the loft.

Granger turned, shaking her head. She looked up at Draco, who looked down at her with one eyebrow up.

"Having a row, then?"

"Oh, no, it's . . ." She studied him and then sighed, as though giving in to a request. "Ichiro's frustrated because Francia was supposed to help him with the lights, apparently. But she was so busy casting the confetti heart charm that she never helped him."

"So, why were _you_ having a go at him?"

"Because he was having a go at her." She rolled her eyes. "It's just how we talk. You wouldn't understand."

"Ah," Draco said, crossing his arms over his chest. He definitely did not understand yelling for the sake of yelling. "It's not because he doesn't want to be around a Death Eater?"

Granger scoffed. "Ichiro is the _last_ person to care about that. Trust me, he cares more about Gillyweed than he does the war."

"An Herbologist in the making?"

"No, uh," she said with a grimace. "He just really likes Gillyweed."

Draco gave her a strange look. "Is he a Huf -"

"A Hufflepuff, yes."

He gave her a once-over. He remembered the Weaselbee and Potter being barmy as all Hell, and he knew Longbottom was a bit of a bizarre bloke. He wasn't surprised that Granger made company with odd folk. When her lips curled up and she uttered another girlish giggle, Draco didn't quite know how to react.

Her smile turned shy and faltered. "Anyway, he said you can help him. He thinks you'll be of more use than Francia anyway."

* * *

Draco made his way up the loft steps, viewing the insane amount of string lights that had yet to be charmed onto to the ceiling. Ichiro directed him completely in Japanese, which was a stress-filled debacle. He decided that he was glad he'd stopped being a Prefect in Sixth Year.

It took them about ten minutes to hang the lights using a combination of levitation and sticking charms. Draco grew used to hearing Ichiro order him about. He had no idea what he was saying, but Draco found that he rather enjoyed losing himself in a task that didn't require him to brood and mull things over. It made him feel useful, instead of the uselessness he'd been battling with for so long.

The lights were eventually all hung, leaving the loft looking like a bit of a wonderland with the way they draped down from the ceiling in sweeping arches, casting strange shadows over the numerous chaise lounges. Draco couldn't help but smile at their handiwork.

Ichiro said something with a certain measure of enthusiasm, bowing slightly. He grinned at Draco, who rubbed the back of his neck with a bit of awkwardness.

"I haven't the slightest clue what you just said," Draco said with a small smirk. "But thanks anyway."

Ichiro smirked, too. "I said, ' _thank you._ '"

A deadpan expression crossed Draco's face. "You could speak English the entire time?"

"Yes," Ichiro said, still smirking. He crossed his arms over his black jumper, his black hair falling into his eyes in a roguish manner. "You couldn't speak Japanese the whole time? I took the time to learn English; you should take the time to learn Japanese."

Draco liked this bloke. He had a point. "You know, I just might."

Ichiro grinned, toothy and full of cheek. "Sit at lunch together tomorrow?"

Draco paused, tilting his head. He searched Ichiro's eyes for a moment. He was so used to people avoiding him like a flesh-eating curse that it felt almost unsettling to have someone be so uncaring of the fact that he was once straddling the border between the land of the light and the valley of the dark. The longer he stared, the more sincere Ichiro looked.

"Yeah," Draco said, tasting the word on his tongue. Savoring the idea of having a new friend. His smirk faded into a small smile. "Yeah, mate."

"Ace." Ichiro smiled again and then headed for the stairs down to the main part of the room.

Draco stood there for a moment longer, smiling to himself. Theo was his friend, even if they argued a lot, and Pansy was his ex-girl friend and friend, too, but there was so much between them. So much past. Ichiro could be his friend, without any strings attached.

Draco had never had one of those.

_Do you deserve it?_

As he stood there, a frown returning to his face, he heard music start playing. He had no idea where it was coming from, only that it was loud and Muggle with a lot of bumping sounds and a female vocalist. He took to the stairs, walking down them. There were a few partygoers straggling in, so he checked his watch. Five minutes to go.

He headed over to the bar, where Granger was standing behind it. She was laughing while she spoke to Francia, both of them waving their wands to charm tap fountains to the stacked barrels of Madam Rosmerta's drinks. She looked breathtaking when she was like this, engaged and free of worry.

He wished she was his.

Draco leaned over on the counter, his hands placed flat on the counter. "Granger."

She stopped mid sentence, still chuckling, and looked at him. Her gaze scanned his body, roving over what she could see of his torso as if drinking it in. He felt his stomach twist.

 _It's the potion,_ he thought. _Just the potion._

Granger's eyes lifted past him and lit up. She gasped, hopping up and down on her tip-toes. "Malfoy, the lights look spectacular! Merlin's beard! Francia, look!"

Draco flushed as Francia turned to look. The two witches raved on about it for a while, until Ichiro came walking up and asked for Granger's assistance with something candle-related. She rushed to go help him before they had a fire situation on their hands.

Francia spoke to Malfoy over the music. "I'm glad she finally got over herself and talked to you."

Draco stopped breathing for an entire three seconds. He tore his eyes away from where Ichiro and Granger had skittered off to.

"What?"

Francia's ringlets bounced as she flourished her wand. The rest of the taps appeared on the barrels. "That's funny. You're not as mysterious as you seem. You're just as oblivious as any wizard."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Again, witch, _what_?"

She waved her wand again. Glasses appeared out of thin air, stacking at the end of the bar. "Don't tell me you're this daft."

He wasn't daft. It was just that what she said couldn't be _true_.

Draco watched as more students began to appear, filling the room with noise that warred with the Muggle music. He looked over to the right again, at Granger and Ichiro. Another wizard had come to stand near them - a Seventh Year member of Ravenclaw house. He had brown hair that he scraped into a bun at the back of his head most days, and the sort of beard that Draco would never be able to grow in his lifetime. Nev Cherdley, if he remembered correctly.

Cherdley was standing quite close to Granger. They were laughing too much.

Draco narrowed his eyes, feeling his concern over her condition mingling with a spike in his heart rate. Cherdley was the sort to talk with his hands, hands that kept straying dangerously close to an oblivious Granger's shoulder. What would happen if he touched her skin by accident? Draco hated to think of Cherdley's life without hands. He imagined it would be rather difficult to take his N.E.W.T.s without the ability to write.

"Humor me," Draco said through gritted teeth to Francia, never looking away from Granger's smile and Cherdley's hand.

Francia smirked and tapped her wand against her chin. She looked him over, as if sizing him up. "I had no clue you were this dense. I figured you were, you know, intelligent. Malfoy, Pureblood, top marks, and all."

Draco glared at her and said nothing. Behind him, more students had filed in. The room was starting to get fuller, the noise to become more of a din.

Francia sighed and tucked her wand up into her sleeve. "Have you not seen the way she looks at you? Curiosity killed the cat, and she looks rather sickly most of the time, wouldn't you say?"

"What are you talking about? She doesn't look at me. And if she did, it certainly wouldn't be out of curiosity."

He tried not to think about the fact that he'd watched her touch herself not even one hour ago. How she'd pleaded with him to talk to her. How she'd told him she would beg for him. It was clear she'd only done it because of the Cupere.

"Not today, you right git," Francia said. "She _always_ looks at you like that."

"Like what?" There was no way. It was not possible _._

Francia's smirk was Slytherin in nature, but her words were the frank words of a Hufflepuff.

"Like a question she wants to find the answer to."

Before Draco could fully comprehend what she might be saying, someone called her name. A group of girls rushed over to greet her at the bar. They cast Draco some wary glances, and then it was all smiles as they begged Francia to dance.

Draco stood by the bar, watching the room as the rest of the Seventh and Eighth Year partygoers entered the room in a steady stream, until there were about one hundred or so students milling about the room. Draco had no idea where it all came from, but floating trays of hors d'oeuvres and bowls of sweets wove their way in and out of clusters of rowdy witches and wizards.

A queasy feeling churned in his stomach. He didn't much fancy large masses of people. Not after the Battle. Not after being one of the masked members of the crowds who came to see the Dark Lord speak his dark sermons in the Manor ballroom. He let his hands hang by his thighs. Pain erupted in his palms as he dug his fingernails into his skin.

He glanced over at Granger again. More pain in his palms. Her head was thrown back in laughter, almost the same way as when she was falling apart in the hut. Cherdley was helping her cast charms to lift the candles higher into the air, saying something to her that had her in stitches. Draco watched her.

What sort of answer could she be hoping to find in the apparent question that was him?

Draco turned around, wanting to get back the focused feeling he'd had while hanging the lights. He withdrew his wand and started casting charms. One-by-one, the glasses floated up and behind the bar, filling themselves at the taps. Then, they floated gently through the room like they were at a Pureblood gala, where they were excitedly taken by an uncountable number of students. Some even floated up to the loft and landed in the grasp of whichever students had found their way there.

When he was done, he looked to the left again. Granger was no longer there and neither was Cherdley. He pulled a sour facial expression from where he leaned against the bar. The last thing he needed to do was lose sight of her in a crowd. A crowd full of students who had begun to dance to the Muggle music in a way that he'd never seen before, all gyrating hips and jumping feet.

He took a step forward and paused.

He didn't want to go into the crowd. He was terrified. All those pressing bodies . . . What if someone hexed him?

There were so many people who hated him, so many who would love the opportunity to jinx him, curse him, or worse. So many with family members that had been cursed or even killed by his father. No one would bat an eyelash at the murder of the ex-Death Eater. No one would blink at the prospect of that ex-Death Eater being him.

But what if Granger was in trouble? What if Cherdley touched her and the potion reacted in some unforeseeable way, and then he mistook her lack of lucidity for being wanton and consenting? What if he didn't care about consent?

_What if he didn't care about consent?_

Determination flooded every part of Draco's body, and he moved towards the crowd.

Suddenly, something caught his gaze. Or rather, a certain someone.

Richter.

His eyes went wide. He'd been hexed to Hogsmeade and should have been in the Infirmary, not at this party. How was he here _?_ Where was Poe?

Richter was standing near the wall beside the door, surrounded by quite a few witches. Witches who seemed to be fawning all over him, judging by the smug looks he was giving them. His nose looked normal, though it was impossible to tell with the only light in the room coming from the floating candles and the string lights. He had a full head of wavy brown hair, which Draco knew a simple Hair Growth potion had likely fixed that, and the only sign that he'd been covered in boils were a few splotchy, darker patches of skin that peeked out above the collar of his blazer.

 _Hexes were too good for the likes of him,_ Draco thought, the words floating within a dark cloud inside of him. _Perhaps he'd like a taste of the Cruciatus_.

He took a deep breath. Now was not the time for hexing and cursing. Now was the time for searching and finding. He needed to find Granger and stick near her. He needed to warn her that Richter was present and that Poe might be, too.

He continued on through the dance floor, towards the back of the room. He ignored the feeling of the bodies jumping away from him the moment they realized it was him they were nearly rubbing up against. He was glad for his height. It enabled him to scan the entire room above most everyone's heads.

Granger was standing near the couch hole, chatting with Luna Lovegood about something that had her hands waving about. Cherdley was lingering nearby, conversing with none other than Theo. Everyone except Granger had a drink in their hands. Fortunately, she didn't look like the potion was bothering her, so he was inclined to allow Cherdley to keep his hands a bit longer. Perhaps her Occlusion was working?

He shot Theo a quick glance, looking away before he could meet his gaze. The last thing he was interested in doing right now was untangling the threads of their earlier argument.

Theo apparently had a different idea. His eyebrows shot up and he lifted his chin.

"Draco!" he called above the volume level of the music.

Draco froze, halfway between him and Cherdley, and Granger and Lovegood. He let out a mental curse and turned to look over his shoulder at Theo. His facial expression, he schooled into one of indifference.

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk?"

Draco sneered. "I suppose."

Cherdley sipped his wine.

Draco's anger swelled and he glared daggers at him. "Have someplace else to be going, Berkeley?"

Cherdley looked confused. He lowered his glass. "It's Cherdley. Nev Cherdley."

Draco paused, continuing to glare at him. He felt quite a measure of satisfaction at the knowledge that he was an entire head taller than him. ". . . Have someplace else to be going, Hinkley?"

Theo snorted.

Cherdley lowered his glass further, slipping one hand into the pocket of his slack trousers. The silver pin he wore on his blazer lapel marked him as a Ravenclaw, and the haughty scoff he gave in response to Draco's snark proved it.

"I do, in fact. I have many places that I'm going." He raised one eyebrow and took a careful sip of his drink. "And you, Malfoy? Do you have many places to be going?"

Something charged the air with electricity. Draco eyed him, somehow knowing that there was a deeper meaning behind his words. He balled his hands into fists at his sides.

"Azkaban, perhaps?"

Anxiety. It burst within Draco's chest, setting off every nerve ending in his body.

He'd been to Azkaban. For one fortnight prior to his trial - the trial at which Granger had spoken for his freedom. Cold days, even colder nights. Guards hexing and cursing him through the window bars of his cell door for the sake of causing him pain. The biting sea wind grinding salt into the leftover wounds. He never wanted to go back there. Theo's hand clamping down on Draco's shoulder was the only thing keeping him from drawing his wand.

Draco channeled all of his newfound hatred for Cherdley into his eyes and fixed him with a look of pure, restrained rage. "Good-bye, Oakley."

Cherdley merely smirked. He took another infuriating, calm sip of his drink. Then, he nodded to Theo and Draco in turn.

"Evening, gentleman," he said, and then he walked away.

Draco debated breaking Pureblood decorum and hexing him in the back.

"Fuck's sake," Theo said, scowling. "That tosser's a _prat_."

Surprise pushed Draco's eyebrows up and he turned, brushing Theo's hand off of his shoulder as he did so.

"I thought you were having a chat with your mate," he said, voice leaking sarcasm out all over the tension.

"He's a Ravenclaw. I'm a Slytherin. The only thing we have in common is knowing how to play the game, work a room, and eviscerate each other with carefully-veiled threats." Theo frowned, watching as Cherdley made his way over to Granger and Lovegood. "What you saw was not a chat. It was the Battle of Hogwarts: Part Two."

Draco stared at him for a moment. Theo finally looked away from Cherdley and up at Draco. Two heartbeats passed, and then the two of them were grinning. Draco felt a weight lifting off of his shoulders, relief flooding his body in its place.

"And what happened between us earlier wasn't?" Draco asked, his grin fading into a smirk. He crossed his arms and tilted his head. "Are you certain you and Cherdley weren't engaging in Part Three?"

"You tell me." Theo downed the rest of his drink, his eyes never leaving Draco's. "I wasn't aware that things had changed between you and Granger."

Draco was powerless to stop his gaze from listing to the right, where he saw Cherdley saying something that had Lovegood and Granger both giggling like First Years.

"They've changed."

_You have no idea how much._

Theo followed his line of sight. "Well. You'll find no opposition from me."

"Oh." Draco smirked at him. "Well, you have my gratitude for granting your permission."

"Water under the metaphorical bridge, as it were?"

"I shall drown in it."

Theo threw his head back and laughed. "I'm off to find Pansy. You'd better go deal with . . . That."

Draco nodded to him and then turned, feeling irritation darkening his mood further. He would, in fact, be dealing with it.

Cherdley stood beside Granger, his hand still in his pocket, but his elbow continually attempting to brush against her arm. She kept moving out of the way, with slight movements, but Cherdley didn't seem to notice. Lovegood wore the same dreamy expression on her face that she always wore, with the unfocused eyes and faint smile. Around them, the crowd pressed and the music pounded.

Draco took a deep breath. As panic-inducing as this was, Granger would always come first for him. He Occluded, taking all of his anxiety and using his magic to bundle it up. Then, he stuffed it somewhere deep down within himself and let his anger flood his body. He set out to protect her today, so that was what he was going to do.

". . . And I swear to you, I thought he was going to blow a gasket," Cherdley was saying. "Right through his hooked nose."

Draco sidled up to Granger's right side, moving his hand to hover over her lower back. To his elation, she leaned into him.

Cherdley's smile was catlike. "Malfoy! We were just talking about Professor Snape. You remember him, yeah?"

"He was my godfather, so yes. Obviously."

"A bit of a tosser, wasn't he? Always giving us way too much homework, difficult exams . . ." Cherdley grimaced. "And then there was the whole throwing in with the Dark Lord situation."

An awkward silence settled over the group, punctuated only by Luna humming along to the tune of the Muggle music. Draco stared down at the ground, feeling a toxic concoction of grief, ire, and indignation at Cherdley's words poisoning his already less-than-stellar mood. Not many people knew who Severus was. Not many people knew what an important person he was in Draco's life.

No one loved him like Draco had.

Granger leaned back, until Draco felt the curve of her spine beneath his palm. He barely managed to resist the urge to jump away from her at the contact, allowing his hand to settle against the soft fabric of her dress.

"Nev, I think that will be enough," Granger said, her smile gone and voice flat. "I didn't mind trading silly stories, but saying something so horrid and untrue about Professor Snape is really uncouth. And frankly, it bothers me. Malfoy is my friend, and I won't have you speaking ill of his family members that way."

Cherdley's jaw dropped. Draco blinked. He couldn't breathe.

_Her friend?_

"I was just . . ." Cherdley cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Hermione. I meant no ill will -"

"You did, Cherdley," she said, and Draco felt her press back more firmly against his hand. "You, like a lot of people in the wizarding world, harbor nothing _but_ ill will for the Malfoy family."

Cherdley spluttered. "But he - you - he's your _friend_? After Lucius Malfoy cursed all those people? After _he_ let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts?"

"I am." Granger moved closer to Draco, her back sliding along his hand, until his fingers instinctively curled around her hip. Her body was rigid as it brushed against his side. "And do not forget who you're speaking to. If anyone has the right to extend forgiveness, it's me."

"All this because I made a joke about _Snape_?"

Granger tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Leave us, Nev. Your conversation bores me, your jokes are made at the expense of others, and you so clearly want into my knickers that it's appalling."

_Friend. She sees me as her friend._

Draco's head snapped to look at her. She was looking down at her nails. Her facial expression was that of a determined woman - one who knew the impact of what she was saying. She knew, and she didn't care about the fallout because she knew she was right.

He wanted to kiss her.

Cherdley stared at Granger for a long moment. The silence irked Draco, the dance music seeming too loud. It felt like they were dueling, like Granger had thrown the last hex, and Cherdley was circling as he figured out how to countercurse her.

He could see it in Cherdley's eyes: the male indignation. The Pureblood claim to agency over a witch. It was clear that Cherdley was not happy with the way Granger had spoken to him. He was about to do what his sense of entitlement told him to do. He was about to do exactly what Draco himself had done countless times over the years.

Cherdley was about to eviscerate her.

"You know all there is to know about me, hm? You're such an intelligent little bird," Cherdley spat, eyes blazing and his Pureblood mask torn asunder. "The only reason why you're standing here today is because of Potter, because you hid behind him all the way until the end, and then stepped out at the last moment to reap the credits for the _Prophet_. ' _Brightest Witch of Our Age_ ,' and yet you're chumming it up with an ex-Death Eater on Valentine's like a common whore. Without Potter's protection, the Dark Lord would have skinned you alive and made an example out of you. You wouldn't be able to fuck your way out of that, now would you? Tch. You'll never be more than a chavvy little Mudblood _slag_."

Draco had transcended anger and hatred. He felt like his soul had left his body. At this moment, he didn't know who he despised more: Richter or Cherdley.

"Nev, sir!" Luna cried, suddenly jolting out of her self-imposed reverie. She turned her bleary-eyed face to the Ravenclaw beside her.

Granger appeared stricken, with wide eyes and parted lips, her head pulled back on her shoulders. Cherdley's words had struck home, because as strong as she was, she was still human and she still had an entirely breakable heart. She shrunk. She shouldn't have shrunk, but she did. She was the strongest witch in the entire school, in the entire wizarding world, and she still shrunk against his side. As if he were the only comfort she had to seek. As if she _wanted_ to seek his comfort.

And he would give it.

Draco's heart swelled with purpose, with a renewal of strength that he hadn't known he had, and he dropped his arm from her body. He pushed it out in front of her, urging her behind him in a deliberate movement. Around them, students who weren't deep in the throes of their dancing had started to notice what was going on. The shock and curiosity was palpable.

"Wands at the ready, Granger's _friend_?" Cherdley said with a sneer, his hand creeping towards his sleeve.

Draco smirked. He felt the darkness within him rearing up. His Mark itched and tingled, as if it had just come to life in his rage.

"I think not, Hindley."

He hauled back and slammed his fist into the center of Cherdley's face.

Cherdley howled like a banshee, clutching his hands to his nose as he staggered backward. His eyes rolled about in bewilderment, blood trickling between his fingers and down his chin. Several more students stopped dancing. Soon, it felt like everyone's eyes were on them.

Draco didn't quite know what to do. He was still angry, of course. But now, he was faced with so much attention that he felt a little overwhelmed. He scanned the sea of eyes staring at him under the dim lighting, lingering on each face as he silently dared them to speak. They were all watching, waiting to see what would happen next. He knew what they were expecting out of him. They were expecting to see the Death Eater.

He shook his hand out. It hurt.

"You fuckin' . . . _Mug_!" Cherdley snarled, all semblances of Pureblood decorum shed as he slid into an accent that was less than proper. He looked a fearsome sight as he ripped his wand out of his sleeve, blood smeared all over his face and brows knitted together with fury.

_Granger. Get Granger. Where is she?_

Her first, then his wand.

Draco stumbled backward, his arm curved behind him, fumbling blindly to ensure that Granger was safely tucked behind him. He located her arm and gripped it firmly.

" _Petrificus totalus_."

Luna stood there, her wand held aloft.

"I wouldn't want the party to have to end so soon," she said in an airy, feather-soft voice. She tilted her head, gazing up down at the rigid form of Cherdley. His face had frozen into its enraged mask. Blood still dripped freely from his nose.

Draco was struck by the similarity of this situation to the one he'd found himself in with Potter on the train in Sixth Year, and the differences between now and then. He stared at Cherdley, and it was almost like he could see Potter staring back at him. Almost like he could still feel that horrible sense of impending doom that Voldemort's tasks had pressed upon him. Like he was still holding the lives of his parents in his hands. Draco, a sixteen-year-old kid who was given an impossible task from a dark wizard with impossible nightmares in store for everyone he knew.

All-of-the-sudden, the feeling of Granger's arm beneath his hand was too much. The feeling of her hands pressed flat to his back: too much. He let go of her and stepped to the side, his eyes guarded with Occlusion as he looked down at her.

"Richter's here," he blurted out. "So we should go."

_We, we, fucking we._

She tore her eyes away from Cherdley, still looking shaken. "What? Oh . . . Soon. The party -"

" _Fuck it_ ," he hissed, taking a step closer with his fists clenched. "Fuck the party. Look at your hands."

Together, they both looked down at her hands. They were trembling violently. When Draco lifted his gaze to her face, he could see even by the candlelight that she was flushed. Her hair was limp, sweat obviously having begun to bead on her forehead.

"Yes. Okay," she said in a soft voice. She looked around at the crowd that had gathered. For the first time in all seven-and-a-half years that he'd known her, she looked like she didn't know what to do.

Just then, Ichiro made his way through the crowd with Francia in tow. Francia began to bark orders while Ichiro came to join Draco and Granger.

"What happened?" he asked, looking concerned as he caught sight of Granger's shaking hands. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Granger said, her voice catching in her throat.

"You don't look fine," Ichiro said. "You -"

He broke off and all three of them watched as Luna used _levicorpus_ to hoist the stony form of Cherdley vertically into the air. Several people began to chuckle, which could be heard in tandem to the still-pulsing music, and then she was off towards the door with him in tow.

Francia waved her hands about. "All right, my pretties, nothing to see here! Let's get back to dancing, shall we? We are _so_ taking advantage of Headmistress McGonagall being gone for the night. No curfew? No problems."

As things began to return to the way they were before the disruption, Draco was brought back to the present by Ichiro. He was reaching for Granger's hands, but she hadn't noticed. Her gaze remained trained on the now-dancing crowd, and she seemed distracted.

Draco swallowed against the tide of his guilt. The potion. He'd put his hand on her back, hip, and arm, knowing that she could feel his touch more acutely through her clothing. What if it had only served to addle her mind?

Without thinking, his hand lashed out and smacked Ichiro's away.

"What the - Mate?" Ichiro stared at him in astonishment.

Draco blanched and opened his mouth, not knowing what to say. The last thing he wanted to do was out their situation, obviously, but he also didn't want to strike the potential new friend he'd just made.

"I'm fine," Granger repeated. For some reason, started to walk away.

Draco practically jumped out in front of her, his hands shooting to her upper arms to stop her. Her head fell back slightly and when she looked up into his eyes, she appeared confused. Troubled. He quickly let go of her.

"Granger, you do not look fine," he said.

Ichiro's gaze danced back and forth between the two of them. "Do you -"

More consternation. A loud scream. Flames rearing up in the loft.

Ichiro let out a loud sigh. "Malfoy, can you help me with this? I've been trying to figure it out for the past fifteen minutes, before all . . . This."

Draco turned to look up at the loft. When he turned around, Granger was gone.

"Shite," he muttered, casting his gaze about, searching for her among the crowd.

What in Salazar's Hell was he thinking touching her so much, even over the clothes? Self-loathing roiled within him, bubbling like an overcooked potion. He wanted to choke. He was doing a horrible job of protecting her.

Seeing that Ichiro was anxiously waving him over from the foot of the stairs, Draco had no choice but to go.

* * *

It turned out that the fiasco was a prank.

Someone had decided it would be humorous to cast a perpetual _engorgio_ on some of the floating candles, and Ichiro hadn't been able to grasp that the curse was continuous. He kept trying to use _aguamenti_ and hoping it would stop. The entire loft had to be cleared out, which thickened the crowd down below to the point where even the couch hole was stuffed full of people.

Draco, who had a bit of experience with curse-breaking due to Sixth Year, took it upon himself to handle the little prank. It was nowhere near as difficult as the cupboard, but it still captured his full concentration. It took him a little under twenty minutes to do it, having to use Occlude just to keep the outside noise out so he could focus. He had to use two different spells - one for dispelling and one for extraction - in order to tear the curse into tiny pieces. Only then was he able to cast the water charm on each individual flame. Just like that, the curse was eradicated.

He wondered who had been the one to cast it, but he supposed it didn't much matter, in the end. After all, it was normal for Seventh Years to play pranks during their final years.

When Ichiro, who was in awe, asked how he knew how to do all of it, Draco just said he had a knack for the art.

"That's a little more than a knack," Ichiro said, hands on his hips. "That's a skill, mate."

Draco merely gave a meek laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. They were standing among the empty loft couches and because they were high up, it felt like the music was beneath them, muted in sound.

"I'm serious! You should think about going into curse-breaking when we graduate," Ichiro said with a small smile.

Draco rubbed his chin. "I'm not entirely certain Gringotts is hiring ex-Death Eaters."

"It never hurts to try. With good N.E.W.T marks, anything is possible."

"Yeah."

He hadn't thought about his future much, beyond just getting through school. He had only thought about getting to the end of the year without killing himself, and that was hard in and of itself. Before the war, he would have migrated into something that his father chose for him, like working for his company. Perhaps, if the Dark Lord hadn't returned, he would have had the luxury of going into professional Quidditch. But now, with the "Death Eater" cloud hanging over his head and the parole on his record, he was logical enough to realize that his options for a future were extremely limited.

Curse-breaking was easy for him, but it wasn't something he could particularly see himself enjoying. If he had a real choice, it would be potioneering for many reasons, namely of which was feeling close to Severus. He also thoroughly enjoyed the process of making potions, tinkering with them and figuring what worked and what didn't. It was something he was good at. But how could he go into a potions career without an apprenticeship? Who in their right mind would take on a Malfoy now?

"Hey!" Francia came trotting up the steps, waving with the same level of enthusiasm that she'd exuded all night. "You fixed the issue, then?"

"Malfoy did, actually," Ichiro said, and then he launched into a stream of Japanese words.

Francia's eyes widened and her hands flew to her cheeks. She answered him in Japanese. Next thing Draco knew, they were having a full conversation in front of him. He watched them with his arms crossed, seeing Ichiro gesturing to the candles, grinning like a madman.

It was strange, this day.

"Malfoy."

Granger stood behind him with her head down. She must have come up the stairs, and Draco had no idea where she'd been for the past twenty-five minutes. She had her arms wrapped around herself, hugging herself as though she were cold. He stepped closer to her.

"Granger? What's the matter?"

"Now," she hissed. "Something's . . ." A shudder ran through her body and she stumbled forward, nearly pitching forward into him. "I don't know what's happening to me."

Draco snapped to attention, wary of Ichiro's faltering speech and Francia's eyes boring holes into his back. He had been caught off guard during the Cherdley situation, but not anymore.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you back to your room."

"No," she said loudly, and when he frantically shushed her, she said it again in a low tone. " _No_. I can't make it there."

"You have to." His brow furrowed in warning.

"What's going on?" Francia asked.

"Nothing," Granger and Draco said at the same time.

Granger's hands pressed flat to his chest, moving upward. Her eyes followed the movements with a blatant painting of desperation in them. Something was different than it had been previously. He didn't know what, but he knew the best thing to do was to get her out into the hallway before she lost her mind.

Her fingers nearly brushed his neck, and he was quick to wrap his hands around her forearms and stop her. She was getting out of control. They needed to leave immediately.

"Hands," he growled. " _Stop_."

"I don't want to," she growled back, baring her teeth in a snarl. She tried again to reach for him, and he was forced to tighten his grip on her arms and push back against her just enough.

Shocked, Draco's eyebrows shot up. Defiance, so far, had not been an issue. Just what was going on? What was it building to?

How much time did they have?

"All right. Time to go." He spun her around and ushered her towards the stairs. She went without a fuss - _barely._

"Hermione?" Francia called to her over the music. "Malfoy, where are you two going?"

"She's knackered," Draco said, nearly passing out as Granger twirled back around and threw her arms around his neck. " _Granger_!"

He grabbed onto her upper arms and tried to force them away. As much as he wanted to have her throwing herself at him this way, he didn'twant it to be in the middle of a packed Valentine's Day party. He managed to wrestle her arms down and then make her face the front. They were almost to the stairs.

"Malfoy," she whined. He felt his hackles rising. He didn't want Francia and Ichiro asking too many questions, for her sake. "I _need_ -"

"Hush, witch," he hissed. "Do you want your friends to hear?"

"Hermione!" Francia's heels clicked against the marble floor as she followed them.

 _This is chaotic. This is absolute chaos_.

"She's just tired," Draco said.

Francia grabbed Draco's arm. "Wait a -"

Draco panicked and whirled around to face her, holding up his forefingers. Francia took a step back, looking up at him in astonishment. He tried not to glare.

"What's your problem?" she said.

Granger answered, "He doesn't like to be touched. Can we go?"

Draco blinked, staring down at her with a perturbed expression that was mirrored by Francia. Ichiro wandered over, appearing as confused as Draco felt. Granger looked to be about two seconds away from stomping her feet.

 _Chaos_.

Granger grabbed Draco's sleeve and whisked him away before another second went by.

"We can think up an explanation later," Granger said as they traipsed down the stairs. The music got louder as they went. Draco was sure someone had turned the volume up.

She let go of his sleeve when they got to the bottom floor, thankfully, and then they were in the crowd. They halted in front of the masses, Draco's chest meeting Granger's back on accident in their hasty stop.

This was going to be an issue.

"How am I going to get through all of these people without touching anyone's skin?" Granger shouted to him. The music and everyone's chattering was so loud that only Draco could have heard her.

Draco's eyes scoured for a path. The left side of the room had the couch hole and an abnormally large amount of students clustered there for some reason, so that way was out. They could walk to the right, maneuver behind the bar, and then around the outskirts of the room. It was either that, or they walked straight through the middle.

"The middle is the shortest path," she said.

"The right side is the safest."

"We should take the shortest. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

They exchanged glances. Draco frowned. Now was not the time for her to try and make decisions. Now was the time for her to listen. Especially when she couldn't possibly be thinking clearly.

"We're going down the right side," he said in a firm tone. "Come on."

"No," she said just as firmly. "The middle."

Draco felt something splinter inside of him. She was a nightmare right now. Throwing herself all over him, running off to disappear to Merlin-knows-where for twenty minutes, testing his last nerve. He was losing control of his temper.

"You're a cheeky little brat," he said, breathing a laugh. He leaned down close to her face. "We're _going_ down the right side, Granger, because I _said_ we are."

She stared at him, eyes wide, their faces inches apart. When she took a breath, he could feel her stealing it from him. Her gaze flicked down to his lips, causing his heart to skip a beat.

"Fine," she said. "We'll go down the right side."

Draco gestured with his arm. He couldn't very well take her by the hand or the arm, so he had to hope that by having her lead the way, they would make it to the door without interruption.

Granger turned on her heel, nose up in the air in a silent display of haughtiness, and then began to march towards the bar. Draco followed, sticking close so he could use his arm to gently nudge people out of the way as they went. Soon enough, they made it past the bar.

There were more people between the bar and the exit than Draco could originally see from where they'd been standing. By the drawn look on Granger's face, he could tell that she was thinking the same thing he was.

He was going to have to either shove people out of the way in a manner that would certainly cause a duel to break out, or he was going to have to touch her.

"It's only meters away," Draco said as nonchalantly as he could. "It'll take . . . Maybe thirty seconds?"

"I can handle that," she said, and he saw her reach up to run her fingers through her hair. She fanned herself for a moment. "I can."

"Thirty seconds," he said.

"Thirty seconds."

Draco gritted his teeth. No point wasting any time, he supposed, when it was going to be difficult enough. He just needed to . . . Do it.

So he did.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to his side as they stepped out from behind the bar. It was dark and Granger was short enough that no one realized it was her that he was towing along. He pulled her in front of him, pressing his hand flat against her abdomen. His left arm, he held curved horizontally out in front of him, using it as a way to part the crowd as best he could without causing any grievances.

Three seconds in, Granger began to have issues fairly quickly. They were in the thick of the crowd, which had very irritatingly begun to dance with vigor to a new song that started. Granger's body was warm against his own and her hands were stroking along the fabric of his sleeve over his outer forearm. He tried not to look down at her, keeping his eyes on the door ahead of them.

They just needed to get to the door. When they got outside -

Granger spun around in his arms. Her fingers crept underneath his collar and over his shoulders to his back. Her arms snaked around his neck and he felt her fingernails scraping his flesh. He jerked his head back just as she stood on tip-toe while walking, her lips pressing against his collarbone through his vest. Her mouth, her breath, the air around him - everything was too hot.

He tripped over her feet. She stumbled back, nearly hitting a Seventh Year boy who was dancing rather inappropriately with Hannah Abbott. Draco hissed through his teeth in alarm, his arm clutching Granger close to him to avoid the collision. She tightened her arms around his neck.

The door was two feet away.

Her lips found his collar, almost brushing against his bare skin just as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob. He felt his body reacting with a tingling feeling all over his skin. In a flurry of activity, he managed to get the door wrenched open, and then they were out in the silence of the lantern-lit corridor.

The door slammed shut behind them.

He gripped her shoulders and shoved her backward. He held her at arm's-length, panting for breath and looking down at her with a crazed expression.

There was no way she was lucid. Her hair was wild. Her gaze was scouring every part of his body that she could see with a light in them that he recognized as pure lust. Her hands were clenched so tight in the fabric of his top that he was fighting to keep her from dragging him against her.

"Calm down," he ordered. "We need to get you to your room."

"No," she said. It sounded pleading. "Here. Please. Here."

"Granger, you're not lucid."

She ripped herself away from him, a look of utter devastation entering her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her body, turned, and stormed off down the hallway. Draco watched her go, his heart pounding as he struggled to calm down. He ran his fingers through his hair with both hands, holding them to his head as he tried to figure out what to do.

Granger rounded the corner, her heels loud against the stone ground. She was going the wrong direction. He needed to get her and bring her back in the right one. It was going to take them forever to get her to the Gryffindor common room where her potions were. A detour was only dangerous. Something had obviously gotten worse. The last thing they needed was to take any more risks.

He jogged after her. "Granger! Granger, wait!"

He also rounded the corner, fully expecting her to be halfway down the hall. What he did not expect was for her to throw herself at him.

With a loud sob, her arms were once again hugging around his neck. The shock of the impact sent all of his breath rushing out of his lungs, his feet staggering backward. His back slammed into the wall just as she was nuzzling her face into his chest.

"Try to stay calm," he said, his voice shaking, hands held up in the air by his shoulders. "We need to -"

"I don't want to be calm," she gasped out, her arms unwinding and hands sliding through his hair. An involuntary shiver ran the length of his spine. "I don't want to go to my room."

Her voice sounded so different. Husky, low. Raw with need. She was struggling with him, pushing and pulling alternately as though she didn't know what she wanted. But in her eyes, he could see exactly what she wanted.

Draco slid to the floor, his hands gripping her hips tightly as they went. It was impossible for him to fight the feelings of desire that awoke within him like the flames of a forest fire. They swept through his body, tearing down any last vestiges of inner strength and resistance he had left. He cursed aloud, voice echoing in the corridor.

"Bloody Hell," he said. "We can't do this here."

She straddled his hips, her hands running through the hair at the front of his head, her nails scraping and cutting his words off. They ran all the way to the base of his scalp and he couldn't stop his head from falling back against the wall. He tried to push against her hips, to get her to move away from him, but she twined her fingers so deeply into his hair that it wasn't possible. His knees came up as he made as if to push himself back to his feet, but she squeezed her knees against his thighs.

"Please," she said, staring into his eyes without really seeing. "Please, you don't understand. It _hurt_ s."

Granger seemed to lose her sanity in the next moment, before he even had the opportunity to think of a reply. She began fumbling with his tie, loosening it. Draco attempted to grab her forearms and wrists to stop her, trying not to touch her hands, but she seemed to have taken on some sort of inhuman strength.

Draco's mind whirled. He couldn't believe this was happening. She started undoing the buttons on his vest. He realized that if he didn't stop her, they were going to have a situation on their hands. A bad one.

"Granger. Granger, stop. Granger - _fuck_!" He tightened his hold on her wrists until she cried out and looked at him with a dazed expression.

"Why? Why do we have to stop?" She sounded disappointed. "I don't understand."

"You are not lucid right now," Draco said each word as carefully as he could, searching her eyes. "We need to get you back to your room. You have potions there that will help you get through this."

The corners of her lips pulled down into a deep frown. "I don't want to!"

Draco closed his eyes and when he reopened them, he fixed her with a stern expression. _"_ You have potions there that you need to take. Do you understand me? We cannot stay here."

She pressed her lips together in a firm line and held his gaze for a long moment. He continued to hold her wrists, unsure if it was safe to let them go. He could feel the weight of her on his lap, could see the cogs turning in her mind behind her eyes. She was deciding something, though he didn't know what it was or if it was a decision born from the potion, or her own mind.

"Malfoy," she said. "Now."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Not now."

"Yes," she said. She tugged on her wrists, but he wrapped his fingers tighter around them. She glowered at him. "It's _my_ body, and it's what _I_ want."

He couldn't believe they were arguing over this. "Granger, are you mental? We can't do anything like that in the corridor outside of a full party!"

"No," she said in a calm voice. "But I _am_ in pain. My skin is on fire. Every part of my body is on edge. I want to come right now, or else I'm going to go back into that room and pick someone else to do it. Do you hear me?"

An intense, burning anger came over him at the thought of anyone else touching her. After everything they'd been through that day, he knew she would do it. She really would go in there and pick someone else.

He couldn't lie to himself. That hurt a little bit.

"You're serious, aren't you?" His brows pulled together. "Aren't you?"

Granger's eyes flashed and then she ground her hips down against his in a deliberate, firm movement that could not be ignored. He felt the heat of her through the fabric of his trousers, reminding him of the position they were in.

He was on the floor with the witch he fancied straddling his lap. She was wearing a dress, which meant there were only three bits of fabric between them: his pants, his trousers, and her knickers.

And she wanted him.

 _Bloody Hell_.

Blood rushed straight to his lower body, all of his blood cells racing against one another in their hurry to be the first to his loins. She lifted her chin the moment they both felt him harden beneath her. She rolled her hips again and this time, he felt a bolt of pleasure reverberate through him. His fingers twitched against her hips. Her fingers curled in his hair.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasped aloud, his hands pulling forward on her lower body. She threw her head back, her curls flinging away from her shoulders, and then she rotated her hips in quick circles that seemed to have one goal and one goal only. "Fuck, Granger. Fuck. What are you - you doing?"

Her answer was to moan.

Something inside of him broke. Something that he'd been trying desperately to hold together since their first shared moment in the corridor after his DADA class. It cracked open, spilling his lust for her out all over the inside of his body. He felt all of his anxieties, worries, and troubles slipping away. They floated off into the nether, becoming replaced by the one thing he knew better than anything else.

Control.

Draco's right hand shot up to her hair, where it tangled tight in the curls at the nape of her neck. He held her head tilted backward, eliciting a gasp from her lips. With his left hand, he pulled her flush to him. His heart spasmed as he struggled to regain the power. That was why she picked him. Because she needed someone to take control when she was no longer able to, and keep her safe.

"Stop moving. _Now_."

Her hips stilled instantly, but she let out a strangled sound of protest.

"Hands off, Granger."

Slowly, she let go of his hair and let her hands fall to rest on her thighs.

"Rules, Granger," he said, breathless. "I'll give you what you want - what you need - but you have to slow down."

The silence stretched between them. The corridor felt larger than normal, yet abnormal in its warm temperature. The lanterns above them flickered, as though a draft were blowing through. The sweet smell of her perfume assaulted his nostrils.

It felt like they were teetering on a rickety wooden bridge between two cliffs, like one small movement would send them soaring over the edge. He just needed to get her across to the other side. He needed to get them both there.

He used his grip on her hair to tilt her head down, so that they were looking into each other's eyes. She spoke first, and he never should have allowed it.

"You want me, don't you?"

His eyes narrowed and he looked away. "Granger . . ."

"You do," she whispered, "and that's why you want me to slow down. Not because of the corridor. You don't care about the corridor. You're Draco Malfoy. You've been with witches in the corridors before."

"I care about -"

She cut him off with a particularly hard grind downward of her hips. His head fell back and he sucked his breath in between his teeth. She moved her hips again and again, disregarding his earlier instructions.

The control - his power - was nothing compared to Hermione Granger's. She was in control of him, of his heart and body, and he was like drops of water against molten lava. The friction alone that the fabric sliding along his length provided was enough to render him powerless.

"This is what you want," she moaned. "This is what _I_ want."

 _Yes,_ he thought. _This is what I want._

She leaned forward. When Draco felt her hair pulling, his hand took on a mind of its own and pushed until her forehead met his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in her hair, groaning as she angled her hips and moved them back and forth.

"It's so good," she sobbed, and it sounded like she was overcome. Her hands wrapped in the fabric on his shoulders. "Please. It's so good."

Draco's walls exploded and his heart swelled to bursting. She was everything to him. She was crying out and he wanted - no, he _needed_ her. He was so wrong for her. He was worthless in her life, yet she was begging for him in spite of everything that he had done wrong. She had spoken for him in more ways than one. At his trial, at the party . . . She had called him her friend.

Like she'd already forgiven him.

He couldn't hold back anymore. He couldn't.

"Oh, fuck. I want you to come on my lap," he moaned, almost in anguish. "I need it."

She lifted her right hand and reached between them. He felt her fingers pressing against her core, heard her sighs turning high-pitched and desperate, and he buried his fingers deeper into her hair. It was not enough. It would never be enough.

Draco's hand moved to her lower back, urging her hips along as her whimpers turned to moans.

"Yeah, that's it, love. You're such a good girl," he whispered. He could feel his stomach twisting and coiling tight with desire. He knew he wouldn't finish this way, but the thought that she would was enough to send his mind spinning. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," she moaned. Her knees slid outward, bringing her more firmly against him. With each grind of her hips, she rotated her fingers in a circle. "Yes, I am."

He wished he could be buried so deeply inside of her that she forgot about her nightmares, and he forgot that he was the one who caused them.

"Yes, you're doing so good," he breathed out, head reeling and heart pounding. "Keep going, precious. Keep going."

"M-Malfoy, I -" Her body went rigid. She turned her face until it was buried in the crook of his neck, and then her lips brushed against his skin. A stuttered gasp left her. "I'm coming. N-Now. I'm -"

She let out a wail and then came, her body shuddering and convulsing as it did so. His heart swelled again - with pride or with pleasure or with whatever it was that encompassed the way he felt about her - and he hummed in approval. He kissed the top of her head, her curls soft against his lips.

"You're such a perfect, good girl," he groaned, his thumb massaging a circle into the dip of her hipbone, "coming on my lap like that."

She made a tiny sound. "Before you take me to my room, I want to thank you."

"For what?" He brushed his nose against her hair again, inhaling her scent.

"For taking care of me."

And then she was fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He grew so hard that his thoughts turned to cotton. He tried to grasp at her wrist, but she shrugged him off and lifted herself up slightly.

"I want to do this for you," she said with something like determination blazing in her eyes.

He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't do this. Not when she would wake and regret it. Not when the memories of it would make her ill. Touching an ex-Death Eater? Touching the person who watched her bleed on his Drawing Room floor?

He wasn't good enough for her, and he never would be.

"Granger, we shouldn't. I -"

Her hand went inside his trousers, wrapping around him, stroking him. He held his breath, as though it would make her disappear if he breathed, and then he lost it. He dug his fingernails into her thigh as she continued to pleasure him in his trousers, his head arching back and his lip pulling between his teeth. When her other hand moved up to comb through his hair, he felt himself falling over the edge of the rickety bridge and into the dark lust that had been threatening him all day.

"I'm so sorry," he choked out, his hips thrusting upward to meet hers. This was okay. It had to be okay. Their clothes were still on, and it felt amazing, but it was okay. "I'm sorry. I need - I'm so fucking sorry."

It wasn't okay, and it never would be, but he couldn't stop.

She let out a small noise, one that he couldn't decide if it was acknowledgment or not, and she began to move her hand faster. The coil in his stomach wound tighter than ever before. He felt his orgasm building in the base of his spine, tingling all the way down to his toes.

" _Fuck_ ," Draco cursed again, tugging her head to the side and exposing the side of her throat. He wanted to kiss her there again, but this time, he wanted to leave a mark. "Mine. You're _mine_."

Two more pumps of her hand, and he was coming. He stifled his ragged moan in the skin of her throat as he latched his lips onto it, scraping his teeth against her pulse. She cried out, her body trembling and shaking as the potion caused her to join him. She sagged against him, her hips rolling against his languidly as she whimpered and twitched.

Sadness sank his heart to the pit of his stomach. The feeling of completion, the air of finality. He could feel it unspoken between them. This was the last time. She touched him _because_ it was the last time.

_She'll never be mine._

Finally, Granger let go of him. She rested her head on his shoulder with enough space between her skin and his to keep it from happening again.

" _Scourgify,"_ he whispered, using the wandless spell to clean them both up as he caught his breath. She helped him zip his trousers, and he just watched her. Selfishly. Watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips as she buckled his belt.

Draco's hand slid through her hair and down the curve of her back. Then, he wrapped his arms around her. If this was the last time, then he was going to hold her one more time, too. Even though he didn't like to be touched, he allowed it. There was something solid in the feeling of her hands cradled against his chest, even in the way she plucked at the topmost button on his vest. Something solid that he needed most.

They shared no words, at first. They only breathed. In and out. Chests rising and falling. Draco used the security of the function of his lungs and the weight of her on his body to ground himself as he steadily fell back to Earth. The Earth that recognized him as dirt and her as the flower. He would cradle her as the soil cradled her roots, until someone came and plucked her away.

"Are you all right?" he murmured.

"Yes," she whispered, her finger twisting the button absentmindedly. "Are . . . Are you?"

Draco almost laughed. "Don't worry about me, Granger."

She was quiet and then, just as he was about to say something else, she said, "I do, though."

". . . Why are you worried about _me_?"

"Today had to be overwhelming for you, Malfoy. To go from hating me to feeling distance to suddenly being asked to care for me while I was under the influence of a lust potion?" She sighed. "I imagine it had to be difficult for you. For that, I am sorry. I'm sorry that I asked you to be a part of this."

Draco's mind spun. She'd been drugged, and she was worried about _him_?

"You are, without a doubt, the most compassionate person I've ever known," he said, and then his fingers slid up to her shoulders. He gripped them tightly. " _Never_ apologize to me. You could hurt me for a lifetime and never owe me an apology. Do you understand me?"

Her answer was not to answer his question. "Was that what you meant by out of control?"

"No," he answered. "When I lose control, you'll know."

Awkward silence.

"If," he corrected. "If I had lost control, you would have known."

More insufferable silence.

"And what if . . ." She cleared her throat, still plucking the button on his vest. If she wasn't careful, it might come clean off. "What if you had lost control, and I didn't mind?"

"Are you guys done?"

Francia's voice came from the end of the corridor, so sudden and jarring that Draco jolted with fright. His hands tore themselves away from Granger's shoulders. She stood up, smoothing out her flouncy skirt, and Draco was quick to follow. He felt heat rising to his cheeks as he tightened his tie, his heart threatening to rip out of his chest.

"I need help with something in there," Francia continued, hands on her hips and lips curved up into a bit of a smirk. "From Hermione."

"Yes," Granger said with a huff, patting down her hair. "You weren't - you weren't _watching_ , were you?"

"No," Francia said with a slight giggle. "I followed you out to see if you'd be back later, just in time to see Malfoy stumble around the corner. Then, I kind-of heard some things, and went back inside. I came back out just when you guys were . . . _Done._ "

"How convenient," Draco said, his tone sardonic and icy. He scraped his fingers through his tousled hair, trying to make it look presentable.

Francia turned her smirk on him. "Yes, your speed was very convenient indeed, Malfoy. Hermione, I'm going to need your help with the taps again. The charm wasn't permanent, and people are clamoring for more drinks. Any longer, and I'm afraid someone might have climbed behind the bar to do it himself. Which we can't have, since we're serving alcohol."

Draco almost choked on his own saliva. He wasn't normally . . . _Fast._ However, the situation coupled with how high-strung he'd been all day and the fact that the witch he fancied had just orgasmed in his lap at his behest had caused him a few issues in that department.

 _Damn fucking Hufflepuffs_.

"I'll come help, Francia," Granger said, voice strained. She then leveled a glance in Draco's direction, who knew he was blushing furiously by how warm it suddenly felt in the corridor. "Will you wait for me?"

He nodded. "I'll wait outside the door. I don't think I want to go back in."

"You wouldn't after that, would you?" Francia said.

Draco felt mortification heating his face further and he cursed, hands on his hips. He looked away, further down into the darkness. As nice as Francia was, her honesty couldn't just be a Hufflepuff trait. She had to have some reservations about Draco based upon who he was and what he'd done. How much of her words were in jest, and how much were arrows to his pride?

"Francia!" Granger scolded. She held up her hands, as though trying to calm a group of people down. "Malfoy, I will go in and help, and be right back out. Francia, let's go inside and secure everything for the rest of the party. Then, I'm going back to my room to sleep."

Draco trudged after them, his gaze trained on the ground as he walked. By the time Granger and Francia went back into the Come and Go room, he was already beating himself up. He leaned back against the wall opposite the door and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, pulling one knee up and resting his elbow atop it. He buried his fingers in his hair and closed his eyes.

Among all of his turmoil, there was one thing he wanted to know more than anything else.

_What did Granger mean when she said she wouldn't mind?_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Songs of the Chapter: Roscian - Agnes Obel,_ _Alive - Mashiro Ayano, and Lily's Theme - Alexandre Desplat_

_x_

_10:00AM; June 15th, 2019_

_British Ministry of Magic_

_Courtroom Ten_

_Presiding: Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Court Scribe: Percy Weasley_

_Trial of one Draco Malfoy: Part Three._

_Charges: Usage of Unforgivable Curses; usage of Unforgivable Curses in a school environment; treasonous offences; using a wand to perform Dark Magic; aiding a dark wizard in the committal of crimes against magical folk and humanity_

_Defense Witnesses: Mr. Harry Potter, Miss Hermione Granger. Let the records reflect that both have expressed displeasure with their place being in Part Three as opposed to Part One._

_Status: Prisoner was removed to house arrest on May 17th, 2019. Wand was confiscated on day of arrest, May 6th, 2019. Prisoner wears monitoring amulet around neck; it has never been triggered to alert of misconduct - good behavior. Prisoner has agreed to plead guilty and has requested to pay reparations upon verdict._

* * *

_Transcription_

_(present in Courtroom Ten are Minister Shacklebolt, Percy Weasley, Auror Dedalus Diggle, and three select members of the Wizengamot: Minerva McGonagall, Celeste Goyle, and Wei Chang.)_

_Auror Diggle: All rise for the honorable Minister Shacklebolt, Chief Warlock and Minister for Magic._

_(all stand, save for Percy Weasley, who is transcribing this trial.)_

_Shacklebolt: (stands) So begins Part Three of the trial of Draco Lucius Malfoy. Auror Diggle, if you please, bring in the prisoner and secure him in the holding cage._

_(Auror Diggle leaves the room. Returns with prisoner Draco Malfoy. Prisoner looks pale, however hair is scraped back and kept trimmed, is dressed formally, and appears to be eating well. Auror Diggle secures prisoner in cage in center of the room and activates electricity charm on the bars. Prisoner is slightly too tall for the cage, so he crouches.)_

_Shacklebolt: Let's just get to it. Draco, how are you getting on?_

_Malfoy: Well, sir._

_Shacklebolt: And how is your mother?_

_Malfoy: (pauses) She is also well, sir._

_Shacklebolt: (nods. Signals to Auror Diggle) Auror Diggle, please bring in the first witness._

_Wei Chang: (raises hand) Should we not first discuss what he is being charged with, Minister Shacklebolt?_

_Shacklebolt: (snorts) I do believe we all know why we're here, Mr. Chang. Provided we have all been paying attention the past two trials. You have been reading Percy's reports, have you not?_

_Chang: Yes, sir. However, for the records -_

_McGonagall: Oh, do shut up, Mr. Chang. The only reason why you are here is to provide an unbiased opinion for Mr. Malfoy. If Celeste weren't so adamant that you be here, you would not be present._

_Goyle: I only want to be sure that Mr. Malfoy gets fair treatment and due process._

_McGonagall: (looks at her) The insinuation that I would lay my verdict down unfairly is -_

_Shacklebolt: (waves a hand) Ladies, Mr. Chang, please. I have chosen all three of you specifically. Minerva, I have chosen you because you know Mr. Malfoy the best out of all of us as his professor, and you fought on the side opposite the Death Eaters. Wei, I chose you because you are a neutral party and you were neutral during the war - as is your right. Celeste, I chose you because you are a Slytherin, and you will be able to look at this case with a shrewd eye. I would like Mr. Malfoy to receive his due process, so can we duly process our bickering, and proceed?_

_(Shacklebolt nods to Diggle, who leaves the courtroom. Malfoy seems unperturbed by the previous conversation; he stares at the ground. Auror Diggle returns with Mr. Harry Potter behind him. Mr. Potter wears a brown suit, his hair combed down on his forehead, and round glasses. Mr. Potter looks at Draco, and then stands at the podium beside the cage.)_

_Shacklebolt: (smiles) Harry, state your name for the records, if you will. Please include the reason why you are here._

_Potter: I am Harry Potter, sir. I am here to testify in the defense of Draco Malfoy. (under his breath) Surprisingly._

_Shacklebolt: Thank you. Now, Harry, can you please first explain your acquaintance with the defendant?_

_Potter: Draco is - was my . . . He was a classmate. In my year. Um, at Hogwarts, sir._

_Chang: What was the nature of your relationship?_

_Potter: (looks at Malfoy, who is still looking at the ground) I have no idea how to answer that question. (quickly) Sir._

_McGonagall: Speak freely, Mr. Potter. This is not a Muggle courtroom._

_Potter: Well, if you insist. He was a prat. My enemy, at worst. My bully, at best. He did everything he could to make my life a nightmare at Hogwarts. He is not a nice person._

_Goyle: (scoffs) Then why are you here, Mr. Potter? Why were you not at Part Two, testifying for the prosecution?_

_Potter: Because as horrid a person as he is, he's just a kid. We all are. And we were even younger back when Voldemort returned._

_(Chang, Goyle, and Diggle flinch. McGonagall sips her tea. Shacklebolt is writing something on parchment with an eagle quill. Percy continues to transcribe this trial.)_

_Potter: (continues) The things that he did, he did out of love for his family and fear for his own life. In the end, I can't really blame him for that._

_Goyle: And what, Mr. Potter, did the defendant do?_

_Potter: You don't know? How are you prosecuting someone without knowing what they did?_

_Shacklebolt: (seems to be hiding a smile) The courtroom is not a place for sarcasm, Harry._

_Potter: Sorry, sir. (is speaking through clenched teeth) I only meant to say that it seems counterproductive for me to tell a member of the Wizengamot why we're all here._

_McGonagall: Mr. Potter, we need to know what you were referencing that Mr. Malfoy did during the war; not what he is being charged with. We need to know from your perspective what you are here testifying for._

_Potter: Oh._

_Chang: (makes a 'huff' sound) 'Oh,' indeed._

_Potter: Well, what I was referencing was the things that I know he did. I know that he fixed the cupboard at Borgin & Burkes, and he let Death Eaters into the castle. I know from what younger students have told me that during the past year at Hogwarts, he did use the Cruciatus on a few students at the behest of the Carrows. And I also know that he was present at the Malfoy Manor the night that Hermione was tortured, and he watched it happen. (Potter looks at Malfoy again. Malfoy continues to hang his head.) He watched it happen while he did nothing, according to her._

_Chang: Forgive me, Mr. Potter, but I fail to -_

_Potter: (interrupts) At the Battle of Hogwarts, I saw him multiple times, but he never lifted his wand against the students any of the times I saw him. That night at the Manor, he was asked multiple times to identify me, and he not only showed great hesitation, but he blatantly lied to Bellatrix Lestrange and told them that he didn't recognize who I was. The night that Professor Dumbledore passed, even though Malfoy lifted his wand to him that night, I witnessed him lowering his wand, and Professor Snape taking over. (looks at Goyle) Is that what you wanted to know? (raises voice) Ma'am?_

_Goyle: (nods) Thank you, Mr. Potter._

_Shacklebolt: We have received ample evidence as to his guilt in the case of the Unforgivables, and the death of Albus has been laid to rest by Snape's memories in the Court Pensieve during Part One. Therefore, we would like to focus on the night at the Manor with you, Mr. Potter._

_Potter: All right._

_Shacklebolt: (lifts a parchment up and reads from it) We have three topics of discussion for you, Mr. Potter. First one is my choice. How much of Miss Hermione Granger's torture did you witness with your own two eyes, how much did you hear, and what was your impression of Draco during this occurence?_

_Potter: I was in the Malfoy Manor dungeon, so I saw none of it. I heard everything, however, and never once heard Malfoy speak. My impression was that he was present, but it was anyone's guess as to who was doing the actual harming. The only voices I heard consistently were Hermione's, Bellatrix's, and Fenrir Greyback's. I heard Lucius Malfoy's once, and that was it. As for my impression of Malfoy, I would say he seemed scared and obedient._

_Chang: Could it be possible that the defendant seemed obedient enough to perform the torture at Bellatrix Lestrange's request?_

_Potter: (pauses) No. I'm pretty sure Bellatrix performed the curses. That's what Hermione told me, anyway._

_Chang: But you said he performed Unforgivables at Hogwarts at the, and I quote, 'behest of the Carrows'."_

_Potter: I said I was told that; that doesn't mean it's true. As far as the curses performed on Hermione, I'd have to say I'm confident Malfoy didn't perform them. Next question?_

_McGonagall: You said that he seemed hesitant to identify you. What do you feel that hesitance was borne of?_

_Potter: I think - and this is just my opinion - that he'd had enough of Voldemort, to be quite frank. I think his regime wasn't the - (he looks at Malfoy's cage) - Pureblood utopia Draco always dreamed of. Do I think he refused to identify me to save his own skin, in the hopes that I would win? Yes. Do I think he did it out of compassion? No. (he pauses) But do I think it was brave as Hell? Absolutely._

_(all members of the Wizengamot present look at him with raised eyebrows. Possible shock?)_

_Chang: So you believe that the defendant acted out of selfish reasons, but that it was the right course of action?_

_Potter: He did the right thing, yeah. That's worth noting. If you look at it that way, he defected that day at the Manor. When he willingly chose not to identify me, he chose his side. It's called defection for a reason - because it happens after the war begins._

_Shacklebolt: Sarcasm, Mr. Potter._

_Potter: (gives a laugh. Probable nervousness)_

_Goyle: I have the final question for you, Mr. Potter, but I must first know what happened after the torture before I can ask it._

_Potter: (scratches back of head) Well, there was a stand-off, where Bellatrix held her wand to Hermione's throat and the Malfoy family brandished their wands at us. We -_

_Chang: Who is 'us'?_

_Potter: Ron and I. The goblin Griphook was there, but he was holding the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. The House Elf Dobby - (he stops to clear his throat. His eyes appear glassy) - Dobby was present, on the chandelier above. Dobby unscrewed the chandelier and when it crashed to the floor, we all dueled. Draco dueled us, but he looked terrified and his curses felt half-hearted. He -_

_Chang: Felt? Or they were?_

_Potter: (sounding strained. Possible annoyance) In my opinion, his curses were half-hearted. I have dueled Malfoy myself and know how formidable he is. He was not using full strength with me. What is the question, then, Mrs. Goyle?_

_Goyle: (shoots an indiscernible look at Chang then looks down at Potter) What did the defendant do during that duel?_

_Potter: (scoffs) You expect me to remember what curses he cast? I don't -_

_Goyle: No, Mr. Potter. What did he do with his_ _ hands _ _during the duel?_

_Chang: (raises hand and starts to speak, but is interrupted by Shacklebolt)_

_Shacklebolt: Celeste, that may be a leading question to the witness. Can you rephrase it?_

_Goyle: Yes, sir. (sits back in seat, still looking at Potter) Who won the duel at the Manor, Mr. Potter?_

_Potter: Me, ma'am._

_Goyle: You said you dueled him before. Who won that particular duel?_

_Potter: I did, ma'am._

_Goyle: How?_

_Potter: I . . . Well, it was in Second Year. Draco summoned a snake, and I spoke to it. The professors ended the duel. Had I not had the ability to speak Parseltongue, Malfoy would have defeated me with that spell. It was a Fourth Year charm._

_Goyle: Fast forward to the duel in the Malfoy Manor. Who won?_

_Potter: (sounds confused) I did, ma'am, as I said._

_Goyle: How?_

_Potter: (looks at Malfoy, who is looking at the ground but is now sitting on the bottom of his cage with his arms hugged around his knees) Because his spells were weak. At the first chance I got, I overpowered him easily with a simple Disarming Charm._

_Goyle: (pauses and looks down at her parchment for a moment, then looks at Potter) Why did Mr. Malfoy not win the duel at Malfoy Manor, Mr. Potter?_

_Potter: (is silent for a full thirty seconds) Because the first chance I got was when he lowered his wand._

_(McGonagall sets her teacup down and stares at Potter. Chang gives an audible gasp. Shacklebolt appears astonished. Goyle is smiling.)_

_Potter: (continues while looking at Malfoy) He lowered his wand a fraction and I cast expelliarmus. Then, Dobby opened a portal. His spells were weak and he lowered his wand. It is my opinion that I should not have won that duel. I was exhausted after traveling for days, I was stressed, and it was chaos in there. I should not have won._

_Goyle: Thank you, Mr. Potter._

_Shacklebolt: That - That will be all, Mr. Potter. Auror Diggle, please escort Mr. Potter out and bring in the next witness. The defense calls Miss Hermione Granger to the stand._

* * *

_Transcription_

_(Minister Shacklebolt and the three Wizengamot members converse quietly amongst themselves. Malfoy is still sitting on the floor of his cell with his head down - not asleep, just staring. Auror Diggle takes Potter out of the room and returns with Miss Hermione Granger. Granger is wearing her hair down, a Muggle knee-length skirt and blouse, and heeled shoes. She does not spare Malfoy a glance as she steps up to the podium and he does not look up.)_

_Shacklebolt: Hermione, please state your name for the records, and then tell us why you're here._

_Granger: (folds her hands on the podium in front of her) My name is Hermione Jean Granger, and I am here to testify on the behalf of Draco Malfoy._

_Shacklebolt: Much obliged, Hermione. What is or was the nature of your relationship with the defendant?_

_Granger: Would you like a list of occurrences, or a general summary?_

_(All Wizengamot members exchange glances)_

_McGonagall: (gives a small smile) A summary would suffice, Granger, unless it is pertinent to the charges._

_Granger: (nods) He made sure I knew how unwelcome I was in the wizarding world because of my blood status._

_Chang: And what is your blood status, Miss Granger?_

_Granger: I am Muggle-born, sir. And Malfoy made sure everyone knew it._

_Goyle: And yet you are here, testifying in defense of him. I am more surprised to see you than I was to see Mr. Potter. Why are you here?_

_Granger: I am here because Malfoy is a victim, not a perpetrator. He is a victim of wizarding society, which has failed all of us in the highest regard. Blood purism is the rotten foundation of a community festering with hatred. If you'll all pull out the essays I owled over yesterday, you will see that I have explained this in great detail._

_(Granger stops speaking, and waits. The Wizengamot members exchange glances again, before parchments are shuffled and all four are looking down at what can only be presumed to be Granger's essays)_

_Granger: Blood purism is not only the cause of the war, but it is the reason why so many wizarding families were so easily able to join Voldemort's cause when he returned. Because of blood purism, dark wizards have been able to attack the government, the schools, and the people for centuries. Because of blood purism, hatred lingers long after those dark wizards are defeated. And blood purism is the reason why Draco Malfoy followed the path his parents laid out for him and joined Lord Voldemort. Blood purism is soaked in fear. That is the true reason why Malfoy did the things he is being charged with: fear._

_Chang: (lowers parchment) Excellent points, Miss Granger. Are you saying that the defendant is a blood purist?_

_Granger: I think that his actions before the war towards me - the ones you told me not to detail - prove that he was at one point a blood purist. However, I do not believe that now._

_Goyle: Please give us an example of his actions towards you before the war, Miss Granger, so that we may know the true nature of your relationship._

_Granger: He called me a Mudblood on multiple occasions._

_Chang: (looks perturbed) He called you a purist slur, you believe he is a blood purist, and he showed you no kindness. Yet you are here testifying for his defense?_

_Granger: I will always stand up for those less fortunate than I. Draco Malfoy is the least fortunate of anyone I know._

_Chang: In what way?_

_Granger: He was 16-years-old when a dark wizard forced the Dark Mark on him. Do you have any idea how painful a curse like that is? There has been record of similar Marks in magical history, and many victims have detailed that the pain is equivalent to being burned alive. It is inescapable. I spoke with Narcissa Malfoy, and she told me that Malfoy was subject to several rounds of the Cruciatus while receiving the Mark. That does not sound like someone who is fortunate. (raises voice) I am testifying in his defense._

_(Shacklebolt, Chang, and McGonagall all look at Malfoy. Malfoy continues to stare at the ground. Goyle looks at Granger, who is looking up at her.)_

_Goyle: So, you said 'did the things he is being charged with.' You believe he is guilty?_

_Granger: I believe he is responsible. I do not feel he is guilty._

_Goyle: Please explain further._

_Granger: He is not guilty. He was failed._

_Goyle: Failed? By whom?_

_Granger: Society. His parents. (pauses and looks at each in turn, stopping at McGonagall) The world._

_Chang: It seems like you are standing with one foot on either side of the line, Miss Granger. One part of you seems to take Mr. Malfoy's side; the other does not. Why is that?_

_Granger: Because I failed him. (she seems to be surprised) I mean - I - not me, specifically. What I mean to say, is that a lot of us made the wrong choices during the war. We were children and we did what we thought we had to do to protect each other. Malfoy seemed to be left out of all of our plans from the beginning. We engaged in House prejudice and we excluded Slytherins. Yet when the battle waged, it was Slytherins that I saw laying their lives down against curses that none of us knew how to deflect. I regret that. So I'm here to make things right. Ask your questions, please, so that I can do that._

_(There is silence. Malfoy looks up, directly at Granger. He appears either shocked or confused - impossible to discern. Shacklebolt nods.)_

_Shacklebolt: Hermione, we would like to focus on the night of your assault at the Manor. I understand that it was traumatic. Are you all right to do that?_

_Granger: I have been meeting with a Mind Healer twice a week since May 4th. Yes, I am all right to proceed._

_Shacklebolt: Excellent, and I'm very glad to hear that. Now, can you please tell us what happened that night from the moment Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley were taken down to the dungeon?_

_Granger: (lifts chin) Bellatrix Lestrange dragged me to the center of the room by my hair. Then, I heard Fenrir Greyback threaten me to Harry and Ron as he took them to the cell. (pauses) Bellatrix used the Cruciatus on me two times. She then questioned me about how we got the Sword of Gryffindor. She wanted to know how we got inside her vault. I told her we hadn't, and that it was a fake. She didn't believe me and used the curse twice more against me. Then . . . (stops speaking)_

_McGonagall: Take your time, dear._

_Shacklebolt: If you need a recess, feel free to request it._

_Granger: No. I can continue. We've all suffered enough. (takes breath) Bellatrix got on top of me and used a dark curse of some sort - one that I still don't know the name of - to cut the word 'Mudblood' into my arm. After she -_

_Malfoy: Sectumsempra._

_(There is silence. All gazes fall on Malfoy, but Malfoy is looking at Granger.)_

_Granger: What?_

_Malfoy: (swallows) Sectumsempra. It's a Black family-specific curse, created by Professor Snape. My mother has the counter curse. She used it to keep you from bleeding out, but you were catatonic. You probably don't remember._

_(more silence)_

_Shacklebolt: Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Please try to refrain from speaking out further._

_Malfoy: Yes, sir. (continues to look at Granger)_

_Granger: (looks back up at the Wizengamot members and goes on) After she cut me, she told Malfoy to go and get Griphook. She questioned him, and he reiterated that the sword was a fake. She didn't believe him._

_Goyle: (raises one finger) One moment. What about the moments when Mr. Malfoy was asked to identify you?_

_Granger: That was before the interrogation. You asked for what happened after._

_Goyle: Tell me your account of what happened when he was asked to identify you._

_Granger: Well, Bellatrix asked Malfoy if it was Harry. Malfoy repeated multiple times that he was unsure if it was him. Bellatrix asked for my wand, to find out what my last spell was, and she saw that I had cast a Disfigurement hex. His father held the back of his neck and tried to convince him to identify Harry - I think they all knew that it was him, but they seemed to be testing Malfoy. (pauses to look down at Malfoy for a moment. He is still looking at her. She looks back up at the Wizengamot members.) Malfoy never identified him. He said things like 'maybe' and 'I can't be sure.' And then there was a bit of a distraction with the Snatchers, and Bellatrix had to curse them. Then, she said she was going to have a chat with me, 'girl to girl.' That was when the boys were taken to the dungeon._

_Chang: I want to delve a bit deeper into this lack of identification. You said you cast a Disfigurement charm. What did Mr. Potter look like afterward?_

_Granger: His face was bulbous and distorted._

_Chang: And what is your belief about the defendant's opinion of Mr. Potter in that moment?_

_Granger: I believe he recognized him, but chose not to identify him._

_Chang: How can you be sure?_

_Granger: Harry's forehead scar was stretched and faint, but the general shape was evident. His hair was intact as well, and he wore his round glasses. I'm confident that Malfoy knew it was Harry._

_Chang: So, my question for you is this: what do you believe his refusal to identify Mr. Potter means?_

_Granger: It means that he changed. Whether he changed before or after that moment, that's not something that any of us can know, but the moment he chose not to identify Harry was the moment he chose the right side. He did it at great personal risk to himself and his family. If Voldemort found out the Malfoy family had Harry Potter in their clutches and that he got away because Draco chose not to identify Harry, they would have all been killed. That means something._

_McGonagall: Why do you believe Mr. Malfoy deserves leniency, Hermione? After everything you've been through, your experiences with him before and during the war, why do you believe that?_

_Granger: Under the Ministry Statute for Crimes of War and Wartime Duress, Article 3, Section II, it states that any wizard or witch who defects before the official date and time of armistice during war is subject to clearance of any crimes committed after defection. Provided no crimes result in death, of course._

_Shacklebolt: Do you believe that Mr. Malfoy defected?_

_Granger: (nods once) Draco Malfoy defected the day I was tortured. I believe that strongly._

_Chang: (looks confused) Even though he never announced this defection to the Order of the Phoenix?_

_Granger: I believe what matters is what's in your heart. Professor Snape fought for Voldemort, but in his heart, he was always a member of the Order. He was acting for the greater good. At the moment that Malfoy refused to identify Harry, he was acting for the greater good, too. He defected. He was on our side from then on. This is truly, truly what I believe._

_(note: Malfoy has continued to stare at Granger for the duration of these statements)_

_Chang: Mr. Potter accused the defendant of standing in the room while you were being assaulted by Lestrange. He said that he 'did nothing.' Is this true?_

_Granger: (lowers head for a moment) Yes._

_Chang: And you forgive him for this?_

_Granger: I would not like to comment on that at this time, as I feel it is not pertinent to the case._

_(at this Malfoy's eyes close and then reopen to focus on Granger)_

_Chang: (frowns) Let me rephrase. What was Mr. Malfoy doing while you were being assaulted?_

_Granger: He was standing beside the fireplace with his parents. My eyes were unfocused, but at one point, I did look at him._

_Chang: Did he look back at you?_

_Granger: (voice is very quiet) Yes._

_Chang: What did you feel?_

_Granger: (takes a while to respond - about thirty seconds or so) It is my belief that he used Legilimency on me when our eyes met. I don't know - I can't be sure. I have spoken about this with my Mind Healer, and she says there's no way to know for certain._

_Shacklebolt: (sits up and shuffles parchments while looking down at each page) Excuse me? We have heard nothing of this before, not even when the Aurors questioned you, Hermione. You need to explain further. Please, speak loudly and clearly for Percy._

_(Malfoy seems to be glaring at Granger - impossible to tell if it is malicious)_

_Granger: She had crucioed me twice. She was cutting me. I - (begins to wring her hands and looks down) I was in so much pain. I was looking for something from him. Comfort, perhaps, because he was my classmate. I was lying on the floor, so when I looked up at him, he was upside-down, but I know he was looking at me. Our eyes met. They did. They -_

_Shacklebolt: I apologize for sounding harsh, Hermione, but you must be sure._

_Granger: (nods frantically) Yes. Yes, I'm sure. I was in so much pain, like I said. I was just screaming. And when our eyes met - mine and Malfoy's - I swear I felt like my head was cold. Like a brain freeze, when you eat ice cream. My head was cold - (she puts one hand against the side of her head) and then it didn't hurt so much. Before, it was like I was on fire. After the cold, it was like I was just aching. I was still screaming, but it was bearable. But then, his father put his hand on the back of his neck and spoke to him. He broke eye contact with me, while Bellatrix was still cutting my arm. Then the pain returned. I believe he used Legilimency to try and block me from feeling the pain._

_(Wizengamot members exchanged clearly shocked glances. Granger looks at Malfoy, who looks back at her. It is my - Percy Weasley's - opinion that Malfoy mouths the words 'I'm sorry.' The Wizengamot members all begin to write on parchment in front of them.)_

_Shacklebolt: Thank you, Miss Granger. Thank you very much._

_Goyle: The last question is mine. (folds hands in front of her and looks at Granger) Miss Granger, what punishment would you like Mr. Malfoy to receive?_

_Granger: You want me to decide?_

_Shacklebolt: We want to hear your opinion._

_(Granger looks down at Malfoy, who has now lowered his eyes. His head is still turned towards Granger. Possible contriteness)_

_Granger: I don't want him to go to Azkaban. He doesn't deserve that. That's where his father is, and his father killed people. Malfoy never killed anyone. Harry told me that Professor Dumbledore, before he died, told Malfoy that he was just a boy who was given an impossible choice. (looks up at the Wizengamot members and raises voice) I am just a girl, and you're giving me an impossible choice. Still, I'm going to choose the one that is the least selfish. Just like Malfoy did when he lowered his wand. I don't want him to go to Azkaban. Please, Minister Shacklebolt, let him go._

_(Silence ensues, during which Malfoy keeps his head down and arms around his knees. The Wizengamot members look at one another. Granger looks off to the other side of where Malfoy's cage is, to the right, and her hand comes up to wipe her cheeks underneath her eyes.)_

_Shacklebolt: That will be all, Hermione. You can go now._

_Granger: Thank you, sir. Have a good day, all of you. And (looks at Malfoy) thank you._

_(Auror Diggle escorts Granger out of the room with a hand on her back. He returns and casts a muffling charm on Malfoy's cage and his person.)_

_-Wizengamot discussion redacted due to due process and A Wizard's Right to Private Jury as indicated in Section A, Chapter 5 of British Wizarding Judicial Law-_

_(Shacklebolt stands to deliver verdict one hour after deliberations take place. He is reading from a parchment.)_

_Shacklebolt: This court hereby finds one Draco Malfoy guilty of the following charges: usage of Unforgivable Curses; usage of Unforgivable Curses in an educational environment; treasonous offences' using a wand to perform Dark Magic; and aiding a dark wizard in the committal of crimes against magical folk and humanity. This verdict will remain on your record for a period of twenty-five years, subject to review and hearing in five years._

_(he pauses and sets the parchment down.)_

_Shacklebolt: Draco, look at me._

_(Malfoy looks up)_

_Shacklebolt: You are guilty as Hell, boy. However, you will not be going to Azkaban, and you can thank Hermione and Harry for that. I want to know right now: did you use Legilimency on Hermione to help her?_

_Malfoy: I tried, sir. I wasn't very skilled, but I'm a natural Occlumens. So, I -_

_(Shacklebolt holds up a hand for silence.)_

_Shacklebolt: Parole. For the next year. You will attend the special Eighth Year that McGonagall and I have arranged for your classmates, and you will be on your best behavior. When the year is up, you will come meet with me to discuss your future. Right now, you will be escorted to Auror Diggle's office, where your monitoring jewelry will be deactivated and removed, and your mother will be owled to come and collect you._

_Malfoy: (whispers) I'm . . . Free?_

_(All members of the Wizengamot smile)_

_Shacklebolt: You're free, Draco._

_(Ex-convict is escorted out of the room. Trial of one Draco Malfoy is concluded.)_

_End of transcription_

_Signed: Court Scribe Percy Weasley_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Trigger warning: sexual assault.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

_Songs of the Chapter: Date with the Night - Yeah Yeah Yeahs,_ _Violent Minds - VUKOVI,_ _Walk Alone - PVRIS,_ and _D.R.E.A.M. - Jonny Craig_

x

Draco's eyes snapped open.

He lifted his head, wincing as his neck throbbed and ached. He remembered sinking down to sit against the wall, across from the Come and Go room's door. He remembered closing his eyes for a moment, trying to count Snitches in his head to steer his mind away from his panicked thoughts over what he and Granger had done. He did not, however, remember dozing off underneath the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Draco glanced down at his wristwatch, frowning. It had been almost thirty minutes since Granger went with Francia. What the Hell was she doing in there? He sighed. Maybe it was another candle prank fiasco. He wouldn't be surprised. If that were the case, then they were going to need Draco's help.

He stood up, stretching his arms out above his head and arching his back. Several _crack_ s rang out, and then he sighed a second time. It felt like the day had been dragging on and now that he'd had a bit of a nap, he felt a lot livelier. He headed for the party.

Inside, it seemed that everyone was a lot more sozzled than they'd been an hour ago. Everyone was dancing, moving to the beat of the pulsing music. Several students were hanging off the railing of the loft, pumping their fists in time with the tune. The couch hole, from what he could see as he moved around the loft's side of the room, looked like a soft orgy, with tangles of limbs and several snogging couples.

So this was what happened when the Headmistress left town?

Draco frowned again. Granger would never be okay with this behavior, that was for sure. She was the type to set the rules, not break them in so blatant a manner. He ran his fingers through his hair, craning his neck to try and see to the other side of the dark room. Many of the candles had been put out, leaving only the string lights and plunging more than half the room into dimness.

Seeing nothing but bobbing heads and hands in the air, Draco decided to head further into the room. He walked along the wall, trying to keep control of his breathing as the air became hotter and more stifling. He kept his gaze focused on the crowd, trying to see Granger's face. What if she had gotten overcome by the potion again, even this quickly after their last encounter? What if Cherdley was bothering her, and the potion caused her to act in a wanton way?

He spotted Francia by one of the tall round tables, chatting in an amiable way with Pansy. Draco headed over there, raising one eyebrow down at the couch hole. He was glad Granger wasn't in there - that was the _last_ place she needed to be.

Though, he supposed if she were, dragging her out would be a bit of an issue. Before they'd first left the room, she'd acted like a complete brat. He'd never seen her be so pouty and disobedient, but then again, she was a Gryffindor. They did like to break the rules.

He stifled the urge to chuckle. Hermione Granger being described as a brat was almost as surreal as the entire day had been.

"Pansy," he said as he walked up to the table. "Francia."

"Malfoy," Francia said, lips curving upward.

Pansy smirked, too. "Draco."

"Have you two seen Granger?" he asked.

The two girls exchanged glances, and Draco's heart sank. Francia had obviously told Pansy about the corridor. If Pansy knew, the entire school would know come breakfast the next morning. He was used to others having negative things to say about him, and he knew Granger had experienced her fair share of bullying, no thanks to himself. However, the thought of her experiencing any form of negativity because someone had seen them rutting in the seventh floor corridor like wild Hippogriffs?

It wasn't happening.

"If either of you say a word," he growled, slamming his palms flat on their table and making them jump in surprise, "you'll deal with me. I've reached the absolute _end_ of the fucks I have to give, and what Granger chooses to do is _no one's_ business but hers."

Francia looked terrified, but Pansy just looked slightly mollified. She was someone that Draco knew well, and she was likely trying to figure him out. Francia only knew him as the ex-Death Eater who once prowled the halls as the school's resident bully.

"Do you understand me?" he said, lowering his voice enough for them to still hear over the music, but to still get the seriousness of his point across.

"Yes," Francia said, giving him a frantic series of nods.

"Obviously," Pansy drawled, and then she took a sip of her drink. She gave him a once-over look. "Who she chooses to fuck in the hallway is her business, got it."

"We didn't fuck, you silly bint," he said, glaring at her. "And if we did, it wouldn't be knowledge either of you are privy to, yeah?"

"Yes, because things that happen in public corridors," Pansy said, "are secret things."

Draco smirked. "They're secret when they involve me and my witch, Pansy."

Francia and Pansy exchanged glances again. Draco blanched, feeling the undersides of his arms prickling with sweat. He shouldn't have said that. He should not have said that.

"So she's _your_ witch, is she, then?" Pansy said with a vicious grin. She set her drink down on the table and cupped her own cheeks. "Forgive me. I'm just enjoying this moment."

Draco bristled and crossed his arms over his chest. " _Enjoying this_ -"

"Shhhh!" Pansy cried, flapping her hands about. "I'm enjoying this moment in _silence._ "

Francia giggled, earning herself a quick frown from Draco, who turned to face Pansy.

"There's no moment to enjoy," he bit out through clenched teeth. "I was just -"

"There's no taking it back," Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand before taking another sip of her drink. "Theo owes me one hundred galleons. I think I'll split it with you, Francia."

"Excellent," Francia said, sipping out of her own drink. "After all, it never would have happened without my encouragement on Hermione's end."

Draco felt his heart skipping a beat and he looked from one witch to the other in alarm. "What are you on about, the two of you?"

Pansy threw her head back and laughed. She and Francia looked at one another, sharing silent words, and then Pansy spoke.

"After you and Theo talked, he told me things had _changed_ between you and Granger. First thing I did was bet him one hundred galleons that she'd be yours by the end of the month. He thought it would take longer. Looks like yours truly," she pointed to herself with both forefingers and wiggled her eyebrows underneath her ebony bob haircut, "is one hundred galleons richer, bitch."

"Fifty," Francia said.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Of course, darling. Fifty. Though, your father makes more than my father, so maybe I should _charge_ you fifty."

"For what?" Francia laughed in incredulity.

"The cost of basking in my presence, obviously."

Francia gave her a playful shove. "You slay me."

"Both of you, just - _fuck_! Shut _up!_ " Draco ran his hands down his face and then held them out in front of him. "Look, I need to find her. Where is she?"

"Ooh," Francia said, making a _tsk_ ing noise and pursing her lips. "Someone's eagerness comes out as _rude_."

"He's always like that," Pansy said, casting a nonchalant glance over her shoulder. Theo was leaning against the wall, talking with Dean Thomas about something, but his gaze was on Pansy. She grinned at him.

"I'm going to kill you, Pansy," Draco said, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to caress his chin. He nodded. "Yes, the killing curse should do it. Where the fuck is Granger?!"

" _Test-y!"_ Pansy yelled back, enunciating her words. "Aren't wizards supposed to be _relaxed_ after a good fuck?"

Draco's eye twitched. He shouted, "I'm going to _obliviate_ you. I'm going to fucking _obliviate_ you!"

Pansy set her drink on the table, a bit of it sloshing out of the side as she did so. "Why are you so loud?!"

Draco's rage sparked. "You're annoying, do you hear me? You're so _annoying!"_

" _Why,"_ she said, glowering at him, "are you so _loud_?"

"Pansy, I'm not _fucking -"_

"No, why are you - why are you so _loud_?!" Pansy raised her voice high enough to gain the nearby table's second looks. She snapped her fingers together like she was talking with her hands, and her nails clicked. "Lower your voice."

He exploded. He _hated_ when she did this. Arguing her was like barking at a damn wall. " _I'm not being loud!"_

" _Why are you so fucking loud_?!" she shouted, clapping her hands to punctuate. " _Lower your voice_!"

Draco had never had a sibling, but he felt like he had an annoying younger sister. He was about ready to perform a familial charm to see if they were related. That way, it would be socially acceptable for him to hex her in the mouth. He took a deep breath.

This was why they broke up, and Theo was with her now.

"Pansy, he said, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes for a second. "Please. Where . . . In Salazar's _fuck_ . . . Is Granger?"

Pansy scowled and downed the rest of her drink in one go. "Fuck's sake, you absolute prat! We haven't seen her!"

Draco thought he might go mental. "Are you mad? Why didn't you _say_ so?!"

"Because we can do whatever we want," Francia said. "Teasing you seemed more prudent."

Draco stared at her, seeing white for a moment. He looked at Pansy, then back at Francia. He pointed to each in turn.

"Whoever's bright idea it was to put you two together as mates was either smoking Gillyweed, or legless on Firewhiskey," he said. "I hate it. I _hate_ it."

He turned and stalked off, hearing Pansy's parting words to him like salt on an irritating paper cut.

"Love you, Drakey-wakey!"

_Brats everywhere. That's all the witches in my life are. Brats._

Then, he stopped at the edge of the crowd.

" _It never would have happened without my encouragement on Hermione's end."_

That was the second time Francia had said something in conversation that alluded to Granger feeling something more than icy hatred for him.

What could it mean?

He shook his head. Now was not the time. He'd wasted enough precious minutes bickering and rowing with Pansy and Francia. Granger could be dancing with anyone in the crowd, or worse. The way the students were dancing, that would be the absolute worst case scenario. It would result in Granger being touched. Since the potion had been getting stronger as the day wore on and there was still about nine hours left before the twenty-four hours had passed, they needed to get her to her sleeping potions as soon as possible.

He shoved his way through the thickness of the crowd, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of her. He searched for a good five minutes, wrapping himself in a blanket of resolution the higher his anxiety levels rose. No matter what, he had to keep searching.

Draco felt his palms collecting sweat. She was not on the lower floor. Perhaps the loft?

He made his way up the stairs as fast as he could, skidding to a halt on the landing. The couches were mostly empty, due to everyone leaning against the railing, and Granger wasn't up there.

Ichiro, who was sitting on the couch closest to the stairs, perked up when he saw Draco. He lifted his glass.

" _Konbanwa_!" he said with enthusiasm, grinning from ear to ear.

 _Well, he's sozzled_ , Draco thought as he made his way over, raising his hand in greeting.

"All right, Ichiro?" he said. "Have you seen Granger?"

"Mm," Ichiro said, nodding his head. "I saw her, oh maybe fifteen minutes ago? Downstairs. She was helping Francia with the taps."

"Shite," Draco cursed, putting his hands on his hips and glancing back down the stairs. "I didn't see her down there."

"Could she have left?" Ichiro asked, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. "When I saw her, she was heading towards the door."

"Possibly," Draco murmured.

What if she had left . . . And someone followed her out? And because Draco had dozed off, they whisked her away to hurt her?

"Was she alone?" he asked Ichiro.

Ichiro nodded. "From what I could tell. Where were you? You weren't with her?"

Draco shook his head. "I told her I'd wait out in the hall for her."

Ichiro took a drink of his drink. "Did you check the tables? The couch hole?"

"Checked them," Draco said, shrugging. He was starting to feel like the walls of the room were narrowing, hurtling towards him with brutal efficiency.

If Granger got hurt because of him again . . . He would search the entire castle if he had to. He was goingto find Granger and get her to her dorm room safely, like he promised.

"I have to go," Draco said, turning in spite of Ichiro's protests and bolting down the stairs.

He dashed around the outer edge of the crowd, his hand trailing absentmindedly along the wall, gaze flitting across the sea of shadowed faces as he went, just in case. When he got to the door, he hesitated and turned around one final time. Then, his gaze landed on someone familiar.

"Longbottom!" he called, walking over to the left corner, near the coat closet. Longbottom stood there, one hand holding a drink and the other entwined with the dreamy-eyed Luna Lovegood's. Both students turned to look at him in surprise. "Have you seen Granger?"

"Why do you want to know where Hermione is?" Longbottom sounded suspicious. He drew himself to his full height, which matched Draco's.

"Neville, it's all right," Lovegood said in her airy voice, placing her free hand against his upper arm. "They're friends now. I haven't seen her, Draco Malfoy, I am most sorry. Not since the last time I saw you."

Longbottom frowned and then studied Draco closely. Draco tried his best to put on an expression of innocence, though he had no idea what that would look like. His brows met in the center of his forehead.

"Where _is_ she?" Draco asked.

Longbottom sighed. "I saw her leaving ten minutes ago with Elias Richter. They -"

Draco didn't wait. His panic burst forth and washed over him like a tidal wave.

He ran.

He ripped the door open and ran out into the hallway. He looked to the left and then right, mind racing. Which way could they have gone? Draco had been sitting right outside the door, right across from it in plain view. How had they slipped by him?

_They couldn't have. Richter would have taken her in the opposite direction._

Draco turned to the right and took off down the hall, and around the corner. The corridor stretched long and dark before him and for a moment, he hesitated. What if it was the wrong way?

No. It was the right way. Richter was a fucking idjit. There was no way he'd drag her right past where Draco was dozing.

Unless.

Richter was smart enough to plan this situation in advance. He was intelligent enough to purchase an Ancient Roman lust potion for specific use against Granger for a sick attraction disguised as revenge. He was cunning enough to create a plan with Poe to harm her. He was daring enough to put the potion in her breakfast, in the Great Hall, moments before students began arriving.

If he could do all those things, he was audacious enough to drag Granger past Draco as a major " _fuck you_ " to her in the most Slytherin of ways. A way of saying " _even Draco Malfoy isn't going to help you."_

_Well, he's wrong. Dead wrong._

Draco pivoted on his foot and went the other direction, to the same corridor that he himself had been in with Granger in an hour ago. His feet pounded against the floor, his footsteps echoing up to the ceiling as he dashed further and further down the hall, towards the Gryffindor common room. He'd already taken so long. So fucking long, just bickering with Pansy. He shouldn't have waited outside of the room. He should have just gone in with her.

As Draco neared the end of the corridor, the only light coming from the moonlight filtering in through the windows, he heard the first sound.

A sob.

Then, they came at him full-force: a series of disturbing noises, each one processing in his mind with a half-second delay.

A slap. A grunt. A loud cry. Rustling fabric.

Richter's promises. Granger's pleading.

"I don't want this. Richter, stop - _please don't! Please!"_

"Shut up, Mudblood. I'm gonna fuck you like the dirty-blooded slag you are. You should have thought about this before you fucked my year up, yeah?"

A loud _crack_. Granger's low wail of pain.

All traces of panic left Draco's body. The darkness inside of him that he'd been so desperate to hold back all day unleashed itself, filling him from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair. He felt his heart screaming in his chest, every fiber in his being alive with rage. He didn't think he'd ever been so angry in his entire life. He ripped his wand out of the sleeve of his Oxford and stepped around the corner.

He saw all he needed to see.

Richter was fighting with Granger. He had her pressed up against the wall, his thigh pushed up so high between her legs that she was on tip-toe. One of his hands was tangled in her hair, dragging her head to the side and back; his other hand was fumbling with his belt buckle. She had both of her hands on his wrist - on the fabric of his blazer sleeve - trying desperately to pull him off.

Draco didn't give a flying fuck about his future. He was going back to Azkaban.

He cared about _her._

" _Crucio_!" he snarled, the word leaving his sneering lips with practised ease.

Richter's head tossed back and let loose an unearthly howl. His back arched and hands curved into fists by his head. He collapsed on the ground, writhing in visible agony.

Draco felt the dark hatred inside of his body intensifying. It was Richter, yet it was Voldemort that he saw himself crucifying on the floor. It was not blue eyes he saw, but red. Red eyes the color of blood, of poison. Draco was finally fighting back. He felt the magic - the acrimony - flowing through his heart and out along the length of his wand, slamming into Richter's seizing body over and over.

"I hope you're burning," he hissed, thinking of Voldemort. His eyes blazed and he bared his teeth like a beast. " _I hope you're fucking burning!"_

Granger stared in horror, watching Richter toss about shivering and convulsing. Then, her head snapped up and she looked at Draco.

"Stop, Malfoy!" she cried. "You have to stop!"

Draco ignored her, holding the curse as tightly within his core and in his wand as he could. Richter flailed about, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth.

"Malfoy, you can't do this!" Granger took a step toward him, her face broken with dismay. "You're on parole!"

Draco's gaze was caustic in the way it cut across the dim lighting and watched Richter suffer. "I don't care."

She made a sound of frustration, despair, and helplessness. She knew as well as Draco that a Cruciatus curse became deadly to the mind after three minutes of continuous casting. Richter was running out of time before he became a shell of a wizard who wouldn't be fit to wash his own face.

 _Good_. _One more minute._

"Do you care about me?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "What?"

_Forty-five seconds._

She squeezed her eyes shut and cried, "I said, do you _care_ about me, Malfoy?"

He couldn't think. Didn't want to. The curse was taking all of his energy.

_Thirty seconds._

"Yes," he said.

Her eyes opened, honey-brown irises seeming deeper than ever under the barely-there moonlight. "Then _please_. Stop this."

_Twenty seconds._

Richter made a gurgling noise.

Draco looked into her eyes and finally said the words he wanted to say.

"Don't you see? I'm doing this _because_ I care about you, Granger."

_Ten seconds._

Granger looked down at Richter.

Without another word, she lunged for Draco. She leaped into the air and threw her arms around his neck, her full body weight slamming into him so hard it took the breath out of him. He lost control of the curse.

The Cruciatus's flow was broken.

Draco managed to get his right arm around her waist and hold her up. The side of her head brushed up against his. He heard her take a shuddering breath.

"You're not this person," she whispered. "Not anymore."

He stood there for as long as he dared, holding her with her feet dangling off of the floor an inch, breathing her in. Imagining that she was his. Imagining that he was good enough.

And then Voldemort's high-pitched, maniacal laughter rang out in the emptiness of his head. He felt the Dark Lord's cold arms around him, not Granger's warm ones. He remembered the words he'd whispered into his ear after he'd walked across the Hogwarts courtyard to join his parents.

" _Your cowardice is both your greatest strength and your weakest fault, Draco. Fear belongs to the darkness."_

He didn't deserve this moment. He didn't deserve any of the things she had done for him, nor the things she had given him. He didn't deserve to be anything other than alone.

_I've always been this person. I'm always going to be this person._

Draco pushed her away, glaring down at her with mingling regret and severity. He tightened his hold around his wand and dropped his hand from her shoulder. He clenched his teeth, held her gaze with all the remorse he could, and then looked away.

_I belong to the darkness._

Granger turned to look at Richter for a long moment. A long moment during which Draco once again brandished his wand.

"Malfoy, don't. I know what you're thinking, but don't."

Richter didn't deserve the luxury of a life at St. Mungo's, and Draco's fate was sealed from the moment he took the Mark.

"Malfoy, do not do this. I know we - I know I failed you. I know I failed you, but please do not throw your life away over this."

He felt the magic inside of his core and he drew it out into his body. He let it darken his heart and weigh it down, and then he focused all of his rage and self-hatred into it. He murdered his own spirit, the way he knew that a wizard must to cast the curse. He pointed his wand at Richter's prone, unconscious form. A sneer twisted his features.

" _Avada ked -"_

"Malfoy, I'm sorry."

Granger whirled back around, a swirl of pink fabric and chocolate curls, and slipped her hands up to cup his cheeks.

Skin to skin.

Draco dropped his wand and wrapped his arms around her as her head fell back, eyes rolling up into her skull. He stumbled backward, the clatter of the wood against the ground echoing in his ears. He felt Granger's fingernails digging into his flesh. He saw her shoulders hunching up against the onslaught of pleasure that rippled through her body. He felt her crushing herself against him. She began to tremble violently, weeping the way that Draco had only ever heard his mother cry the day Lucius was sentenced to life in Azkaban. Granger's tears streamed down her cheeks and she opened her eyes.

"Help me, Draco."

Panic. Panic, the likes of which he'd never experienced. It blew up like a balloon inside of his chest and then tore him apart. She'd said his name for the first time. His first name. Like his friend.

Like she cared about him.

"Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice nearly a whine. He stroked his hand through her hair, clutching her tight against him as she sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted to protect you. It's all right. It's okay. I'm here."

"Please don't throw everything away for me," she said, voice sounding choked with emotion and pain.

Her words cut off and she burrowed her face into his chest. He cupped the back of her head and rested his cheek against her hair, taking deep, steadying breaths as he struggled to calm not only her, but also himself. Looking over her shoulder at Richter, he still wanted to see him die. He wanted to feel the life leaving Richter's body. The sounds of Granger's pleas were like acid to his eardrums. Richter deserved death.

When Granger finally stopped shaking, she tilted her head back to look up at him.

"I know you think you see him everywhere," she said, voice strong in spite of the tears that still filled her eyes and tracked down her cheeks. "But he's not here anymore. He's gone, okay?"

Draco nodded, finding that his throat had a strange ache. He swallowed, and his hand trailed down through her hair again and again.

Her eyelids fluttered, crystal tears clinging to her long lashes. She placed one hand flat against his chest. He felt his heart reaching for her, beating against his chest in its desperation.

"I see you," she whispered, lifting her gaze to his. "So, you don't have to act like you're invisible anymore."

Draco's heart wrenched.

He closed his eyes and, before he did something reckless, curved his hand around the back of her head again to pull her close. He held her, a selfish moment among the selflessness of what she had done to save someone who didn't deserve it.

Suddenly, Richter stirred behind them. Granger pulled herself away quickly, drawing her wand.

"What -" Draco cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

A sudden shiver ran through her body. "I'm going to - going to erase it. Before I can't think anymore. Because it's getting worse."

"The potion's effects?"

She nodded.

Draco watched with wide eyes as Granger performed a highly illegal spell right in front of him, and she did it to near perfection. She _obliviat_ ed Richter, slowly spinning her wand to maneuver the memory out with calm efficiency. When she was done, she slipped her wand back up into her sleeve.

"Take me to my room. Please. Please take me - take me there." Her voice sounded out quick, coming in frantic bursts. "Malfoy, please. Please."

Draco picked up his wand. He stunned Richter, watching as his body went limp and prone again. Then, he wrapped his arm around Granger's waist and ushered her further down the hall.

The Gryffindor common room was around the corner and halfway down the next corridor. Once they got there, he could drop her off and make sure she got behind her tapestry. All they had to do was walk there, and then everything would be fine.

By some miracle, they made it to the tapestry.

"Will you be all right?" he asked.

"You . . ." She exhaled slowly through her teeth and closed her eyes. "You need to take me to my room."

"You can't walk?"

She shook her head and spoke through clenched teeth to control her stammering. "There's . . . Pressure. A lot of pressure. I'm afraid . . . That I'll collapse."

Draco fought the urge to curse. Going into her dorm room with her? Risky. Beyond risky. Especially after what they'd just been through today, and with how she felt.

"I shouldn't."

"Draco," she whimpered, and her lips turned down into a frown that looked an awful lot like a pout to him.

The use of his name made his knees go weak.

"Fine," he said. "But I can't stay."

She nodded and then turned to the tapestry. The Fat Lady said nothing to them, having watched their entire conversation with raised brows and a smirk on her face. She let them in without contest.

* * *

Inside, he knew the First through Sixth Years were probably dead asleep, so he followed behind her in silence so as not to wake them. She led him through the dark common room with a _lumos_ cast on the tip of her wand.

"Where's your dorm?" Draco whispered.

"It's on the bottom floor," she replied. "It's just straight ahead."

What a fucking surreal day. He was inside the _Gryffindor common room_ with _Hermione Granger_. It sobered him. Before the war, the only common rooms he'd been inside of were Slytherin's, of course, and Ravenclaw's for multiple trysts with Padma Patil in Fifth Year when they learned how to use sticking charms to keep the curtains on her bed fastened. Which was surreal, too, when he thought back on it, given the fact that she was not only the only non-Slytherin he'd slept with, but she was also Granger's friend.

Back then, things seemed so simple. He could tip-toe through the darkness of a common room with a witch, and all he would feel was excitement and thrill. But now? He felt out of place. Like a criminal.

Granger let out a small cry as she tripped, stumbling forward. Draco jolted out of his reverie and wrapped his arm around her waist to stop her from falling. Her free hand dug into his forearm and she gasped. She spun around, suddenly pressed against him in the darkness, and their feet tangled. They stumbled together, knocking against the side of a couch or chair - Draco couldn't discern.

_Bollocks._

With a soft curse from him and a muffled yelp from her, they toppled to the ground in a jumble of limbs. Her wand fell from her hands, the light extinguishing itself at the loss of connection to her magical core. He felt his body crushing hers beneath his, felt the bunched-up fabric of her dress between them, felt her entire body going rigid, and he panicked.

"Now," she gasped. "Now, Malfoy."

Draco pushed himself off of her, lifting himself onto his hands and knees. She grasped at the fabric of his vest, trying to drag him down again. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He was just supposed to be getting her to her dorm room, ensuring she took her sleeping potions, and then going back to his own dorm.

"Granger," he hissed, his hand reaching to wrap around one of her wrists. "Come off it."

She hooked a leg around his hip and, with a powerful yank, pulled until his elbow gave out and he was flush against her once more from chest down to pelvis. He felt her rolling her hips upward, pressing the heat of her core against him. His anxiety skyrocketed and he Occluded to control his breathing.

"Please," she groaned hoarsely into his ear, rolling her hips a second time. "Right here. Just a little bit. Just a little bit."

"No, Granger!" Draco hissed, even though his mind reeled. "Are you mental? This is your common room! We're so close to your dorm, why -"

Her fingers slid across his chest and wrapped around his biceps. She continued to rock her hips, back and forth. He couldn't see her face in the darkness, but he felt her hair spilling across the forearm of his that he had laid flat on the ground parallel to her head.

"You said that I was yours," she whispered before letting out another small moan. "Do you really care who hears?"

_No. Fuck no._

Draco felt like his throat had gone dry, like it was sticking together and attempting to suffocate him. Her hips moved like a buoy on the sea, gentle and smooth, and he felt his body awakening with every undulation. She let out a breath, one that he hadn't realized she'd been holding, and it sounded like a sigh.

" _Draco."_

Her plea, combined with his name, the darkness of the room, and everything that she'd said to him in the corridor, caused his defenses to snap. He allowed himself to relax, leaning his full weight into her. The sighs she was making as she ground her hips against him were enough to send him spinning into a waking dream.

"How do you want it?" he whispered, his eyes closing as he breathed her in. Then, he ground his own hips to meet hers and felt her legs shifting beneath his. "Do you want it like this?"

She gasped. "Yes. Again."

Draco bit his lip, stifling the noise that wanted to leave his lips. He felt blood rushing downward, his lower body pulsing with need as they continued to grind against one another. As though they weren't wearing any clothing. As though they weren't here just because of a lust potion. As though he weren't repulsive for doing this with her, gaining pleasure of his own for a second time.

Draco redirected his focus away from the electric sparks that were going off in his veins, onto the outline of her face that he could see in his dark-adjusted vision. He placed both of his forearms flat on the carpet beside her head, unintentionally bringing his face so close to hers that he could feel her breath on his lips. Their legs were positioned strangely, with him straddling one of hers, so he maneuvered himself so that he was between her thighs.

He pushed his hips against hers harder, testing, pushing the limits. His eyes rolled up into his head. He didn't know if it was the friction of fabric, the heat of her body pressing so firmly to his, or the thought of her walls pulling him in deeper, but he wanted to fuck her on the floor of the Gryffindor common room.

"Fuck," he breathed. His palms pressed flat to the ground, his fingers sifting through some of her curls.

" _Ngh - ah -_ touch me," she whispered, the sounds desperate.

"Where?"

She hesitated, but never stopped the roll of her hips.

"Do you want it to just be - be fast?" he asked, breathless. He knew they didn't need to do any of this. All he needed to do was touch her skin until she was coherent again, and then they could get her to her dorm room.

"I want it to be like you said," she whispered after a moment, just as out of breath as he was. He felt her hands playing with the buttons on his vest. "I want you to touch more than just my hand."

Draco allowed himself to smirk, knowing she couldn't see it. "Slow touches, yeah?"

She breathed a laugh. "Yes."

Draco shifted his weight to his left arm, his right hand trailing its fingers down the front of her upper arm. He lingered beside where her breast was located. Did she really want him to touch her? There was no doubt the Cupere was influencing her, but how in-control of her body was she right now?

Salazar, did he want to touch her, though.

"Malfoy. I'm not a child and this potion is overwhelming me. _Touch me._ "

Draco let his fears soar off into the nether, and he covered her breast with his hand. It was soft beneath his touch as he caressed her as gently as he could. She moaned quietly and arched her back up into his palm, canting her hips up to meet his again at a little faster of a speed. Her thighs fell further apart.

"Do you like that, precious?" he murmured, his thumb passing over the peak. Her nipple was stiff, protruding through her dress.

"Yes," she said, and her hands twisted in his shirt. "But I need - I need you to touch it."

Draco groaned, his mind going blank.

"All right, but you need to be quiet," he whispered. "Can you be good?"

She pressed her hips up, freezing in place as he slid his hardness back and forth along the crotch of her knickers. He heard barely-audible whines under her breath. He could just imagine how ready she was, and it caused it to feel even better for him.

"Answer me when I ask you a question, Granger," he growled, sliding his hips upward and rotating them where he thought - hoped - her pearl would be.

"I-I . . . _Draco_. Draco, _pl-please_ . . ."

"Answer me," he hissed through his teeth, feeling the pressure increasing at the apex of his thighs.

"I'll be good," she whispered, and then she let out a small sob. "I need to come, Draco. Please, please let me -"

Her voice was too loud. The words she was saying were too much. Her desperation, the friction, the threat of students possibly returning from the party any moment - everything. Whatever walls he had up? They dissipated into water droplets that showered down on his heart and drowned him in lust.

"Fuck, I'm gonna wreck you," he groaned, sitting back on his knees.

He reached in dark for the hem of her dress and pushed his hand beneath it. His fingertips grazed her skin on their way up to her chest, and her breathing pattern began to stutter. He fell against her just as his fingers snaked underneath the wire of her brassiere. He ran the pads of his thumbs across her peaks over and over, feeling the pebbled skin. He thanked the Gods for the opportunity, his stomach coiling so tight that it almost hurt. He was so hard, so turned on, that he knew it was going to happen for him any second.

He was going to come in his trousers, right here, right on the floor of the fucking common room.

Her quivering breath turned into a keening noise, and he slammed his other hand over her mouth. The moment he did, she fell over the cliff, her screaming moan muffled behind his hand. Her body shook with her orgasm, her feet thumping against the ground and her thighs squeezing his hips.

"Gods, fuck," he moaned, removing his hand from her mouth so he could grip her hip and pull her up against him more firmly. "You're such a good fucking girl. Be good for me. Be quiet, okay?"

She made a noise that sounded like close-lipped acknowledgment. She wrapped her hands around his collar, dragging him down until his head was buried in her neck. Their bodies writhed together on the carpet, Draco chasing himself into oblivion, murmuring things against her skin. He left a trail of scorching-hot kisses up to her jaw, squeezing the peak of her breast between two fingers as he did so. She panted.

"Tell me who you're coming for, Granger." He nipped her ear with his teeth. The potion's effects seemed to be a bit delayed, because he was openly skin-to-skin and a second one hadn't happened yet.

"You," she whimpered, sounding almost like she was on the verge of tears. " _Ah_ \- it's - it's h-happening _."_

Just as she choked for air, the tapestry opened.

Granger, in an addled state of mind as she began to convulse with her second orgasm, did not notice. Draco, who lived in a constant state of panic twenty-four hours per day, reached his hand out.

" _Accio_ Granger's wand," he breathed.

The wand came soaring into his hand and, at lightning speed, he cast a Disillusionment charm. He was about to cast silencing charms, but two Seventh Years had already started to stumble into the common room.

"I've got to take a piss, Maryanne," one said, giggling in an obnoxious manner.

"That party was so fun," Maryanne replied, slurring her words. "I think I may have snogged too many boys, though, Ophelia."

"I really need to pee." Their footsteps thunked about the room, sounding far away.

Draco closed his eyes, even though it was dark. Gods, he really hoped they didn't feel like hanging about by the fireplace, or lighting any sort of lantern.

Granger had realized the girls were present, chatting in the background, and was now quiet. They both held their breaths, waiting. It felt like torment, feeling the heat of Granger's body so close, feeling his release at the edge of the cliff, but unable to do anything.

Granger's hips began to move.

"What're you doing?" Draco hissed.

Her lips brushed his hair by his ear, a small distance away. When she whispered, the rasp of it went straight to his groin.

"Being good."

And then her hand was on the front of his trousers, fingers curving around the outline of his length, squeezing and pulling. Draco's eyes popped open and then rolled up as his mouth fell open in pure bliss. He thrust his hips in time to her strokes, his forehead falling onto her chest. He nuzzled his nose against her breasts, his teeth closing over her each of her nipples in turn.

He heard her voice in his ear again, a tiny whisper. "I'm so good for you, Draco."

That was it. He couldn't keep resisting. Not anymore.

Draco let out a low growl, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair and drag her head to the side. His other hand reached down to cover her hand, showing her the speed and strength he needed. When she figured it out, he removed his hand and gripped her jaw with it. Turning it to the side, he attacked her throat with his lips and tongue.

She started to come as the potion's magic took control of her body. He felt her throwing her head back and her mouth opening. Hearing that the Seventh Years were only just starting to talk their way to the girls' dorm staircase, Draco gently curled his fingers around her chin and pulled it back down. His other hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress and wrapped around the outside of her thigh, his fingertips touching the silken skin there.

"Quiet, quiet, quiet," he whispered.

She shivered beneath him, sucking in her breath and turning her face towards his. He felt her mouth against his ear, and it sent a shiver of pleasure through his whole body. Her hand felt perfect. Her body beneath his was perfect. She was perfect.

"I'm close. Granger, I'm -"

"I'll be so good for you if you let me make you come," she whispered, her voice seeming so much smaller than the sheer gravity of her words. Her words seemed to be getting more strangled, and he knew it was because she was about to follow him over the edge again. "I'll be so quiet and -"

A band inside of his lower body snapped and, just as the two Seventh Years were clambering up the stairs, Draco came in his trousers. He thrust his hips forward, shoving her hand out of the way so he could feel her heat against him again as he did. She came with him, her hips jerking beneath his, her mouth whispering things to him that he'd only ever dreamed of hearing. He moaned in her ear, running his tongue along the outer shell while she was still twitching from her release.

The moment he heard the door to the girls' dorms shut, he nixed the Disillusionment charm, _scourgified_ himself, and held the wand out to her.

"We need to get you to your room," he said, still trying to catch his breath. "And I need to make sure you get your potions."

She didn't say anything, but he knew she'd heard him. He stood up, watching as her wand lit up without her saying anything. He followed her down a small hallway, to a door that appeared when she tapped her wand against a blank space on the wall.

"Are you coming in?" she asked, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. She did not turn around.

"Yes," he said, still feeling a bit on edge after what had happened in the common room. He broke rules often, but he wasn't a bloody Gryffindor; he didn't _enjoy_ breaking them all the time. "To make sure you take your potions."

"Okay."

_That was bizarre. Why did she sound so strange?_

She opened her door and stepped inside, turning to face him as he walked into the room. She kept her head down, her hair falling forward to shroud her face.

He tried not to grimace. She was probably regretting what they'd done, what he'd said, and what she herself had said. He knew he was trash. He was disgusting for letting it happen, for letting himself lose control and showing her that side of him. She'd only said the things she'd said because she was under the effects of the potion.

He walked forward in the darkness, turning around to face the door. She swung it shut, and darkness settled over the room, punctuated by moonlight that filtered in through the dorm room window. He put his hands on his hips and looked around.

"Granger, where are your potions?"

She crossed the room towards him, her eyes locked with his. His confusion grew the closer she got. Why was she looking at him like that?

_Why is she looking at me like she wants to -_

She came to stand in front of him, tilted her head back, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Granger's lips met Draco's, and she kissed him.

She _kissed_ him.

He resisted, his hands going to her shoulders. He had to push her away. This was wrong. This was so wrong. _He_ was so wrong for her.

But her lips were so soft, so plump. Her scent was floral, light, so very Granger. Her body molded to his, perfect and just right. She pushed up onto the tips of her toes, her hair falling back off of her shoulders as she tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss. To pull him under the tow and sweep him out to the depths.

Blood and feelings raging, he slammed her up against the wall and kissed her back.

 _You're mine,_ he said with his lips.

 _I'm yours,_ she said with hers.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: The notion that the effects of the Cupere only works in regards the opposite gender is just on a scientific level, and it disregards chosen/preferred genders. I myself am nonbinary, so I stand by the belief that we are whatever gender we feel in our hearts. However, Cupere's effects are magical and scientific in nature, and I simplified genders to male and female for the purposes of this story. If this triggered you or invalidated you, it was by no means intentional, and rest assured, the author is half-Black, queer, and nonbinary, and understands.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Songs of the Chapter: Prayer - Inchaos,_ _To the Wolves - Anberlin,_ _Apricity - Syd Arthur,_ and _Heavier - Slaves_

x

Draco wondered what it would be like to be a star.

Burning for an eternity, for so long that he couldn't remember how he ignited. Existing until there was nothing left, only to collapse and become a black waste of nothingness that sucked in everything that dared to come near him. He'd pull Hermione into him and hold her there until she became as much a part of him as his self-hatred, and then he'd take her pieces and absorb them.

They would both burn.

Draco's tongue swept the expanse of Hermione's mouth with every intention of ripping her apart, his head twisting to the side to deepen the gaping hole that she'd detonated into his heart. Her hands pulled at his vest and his hands cupped her head over her hair. Their bodies swayed in tune to a song as old as the galaxies, against the wall and away from it, crashing into her dresser. She moaned into his mouth, crooning a timeless melody that all humans knew the composition of, but one that only Draco could harmonize with.

He lifted her by the hips and set her on the dresser, drawing her flush against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and tried her damndest to kiss him back even as the waves of euphoria crashed through her body. Her frenzy grew, her fingers combing up into his hair and dragging his head backward so she could kiss down into his mouth the way a pulsar sings into the universe without ever knowing if anyone hears it.

 _I hear you,_ Draco thought. _I hear you, Hermione_.

One of her hands moved from his hair, lifting up to press against the mirror behind her. Her back arched, nails scraping against the glass, and Draco felt his heart slamming against the cage of his ribs. He pulled away for the briefest of moments, to turn his head to the other side, and caught sight of his reflection.

Tousled hair, eyes blazing even in the darkness, lips swollen. He looked positively wrecked. Wrecked by her, by Hermione Granger, even in the state she was in. Like she was the star that was tearing him apart. She was the event horizon, shredding him into all the parts that made him who he was.

Looking up into her eyes, wild though they were, he could see everything falling into place. Just like the stars and the galaxies in the universe, all of the mistakes that he'd made collapsed into the haphazard mess that was his heart. It had her name written all over it.

_I love her._

She leaned forward again, attempting to capture his lips. He grabbed her chin with one hand and tilted it down, locking eyes with her. Her confusion drifted through the misty haze of her lust.

_I'm sorry._

Sometimes, the only course of action was the wrong one. Draco knew that better than anyone in the entire wizarding world.

" _Legilimens,_ " he whispered with the voice of a broken man who would never be made whole.

He sank into the forefront of her mind, directly through the path that her eyes lit for him. Her voice was in his head, begging him not to do it, begging him to let it happen. " _I want this_ ," she said, and his heart ached. " _I want you."_ Drilling deeper and deeper, he bypassed the sanctity of her memories and went straight for her consciousness. It was strong, bright. Just like she was.

He extinguished it.

He pushed some of his magic into her mind, wrapping it around her and ensuring that she stayed asleep for a full night's rest. There was no reason why she should have to endure the torment of the Cupere for the rest of the night. It was her stubbornness that had kept her awake, suffering all day, and it was his selfishness that would keep her asleep all night.

Hermione collapsed against his chest, unconscious.

Draco gathered her up into his arms the way a husband would his bride, cradling her against his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder, the softness of her curls tickling his chin. _This was the only way_ , he told himself. It was the only way to protect her from herself.

_And from me._

He turned, making out the outline of her bed from the thin sliver of moonlight that filtered in through her closed curtains. With gentle, careful steps, he carried her over to it. With his shoe-clad foot, he pushed down her coverlet. He laid her down on the mattress. Eyes never leaving her slumbering face, he pulled the blanket over her, fingers lingering on the curve of her jaw. He closed his eyes and took in a sharp breath.

This was the last time he would ever taint the surface of her flesh with his darkness.

Draco left the room, casting a series of spells to ward away students, lock the door, and disillusion himself. Then, he left the Gryffindor common room and started the forlorn trek back to the dungeons.

* * *

When Draco awoke the following morning, he laid in bed thirty minutes into breakfast.

Anxiety clouded every thought and emotion in his mind, rendering his legs immobile. So much had happened yesterday, and the circumstances hadn't awarded him even a second to think about it all. He hadn't processed anything and now, waking up with the knowledge that he'd not only punched a Seventh year for Hermione, but he'd also made her come apart more times in one day than he'd ever made a witch do so since he lost his virginity in Fifth Year made him feel like he'd been hit with a Bludger.

It didn't feel right calling her by her first name, though. He didn't feel privy to the value of the consonants and vowels on his tongue. He didn't deserve any part of her, least of all the right to call her by anything other than Granger.

And he realized that he did love her, now that he was rested and alone to process and think. But it wasn't the revelation it should have been. Because Draco had loved her for a long time, if he wanted to go back and look at their past. It didn't happen yesterday, with the Cupere. It didn't happen over the course of Eighth Year, and it didn't happen when she spoke for him at his trial.

It happened the night she was carved into on the floor of his home, when he realized he would risk everything to slip inside of her mind and lessen her pain. Just like last night.

He hadn't realized he loved her last night.

He'd remembered.

What was she going to say when she saw him? " _Thank you for making me come fifteen times or so. Have a nice life?"_ Or, _"Thanks for helping me out, but you're disgusting. Good-bye?"_ Both options were warranted and neither option resulted in them running off together into the sunset. Both options filled him with shame and embarrassment that twisted his heart. Hard.

Salazar, what were the other students going to say? How many people were going to want his head on a platter? How many were going to march straight down to McGonagall to demand he be removed to Azkaban prison for punching Cherdley? And what if Granger's obliviation hadn't taken well? What if Richter woke and remembered everything? Would Potter and the Weaselbee show up to arrest him before noon?

 _I guess I'd better get used to the thought,_ Draco thought with a large amount of misery as he hauled himself out of bed. _Azkaban has a cell with my name on it, and has since I was born._

He grabbed his wand off of the bedside table and gave it a wave, using magic to summon himself clothing for the day. The doors to the mahogany chiffarobe swung open. Out soared a pair of slim black trousers, a long-sleeved black cotton shirt, and a black belt. He dressed with agonizing slowness, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed so he could avoid having to not only lay eyes on anyone, but also having anyone lay eyes upon him.

Draco pushed his fingers backward through his hair, glancing across the room at the mirror on his wall only as long as he needed to. He could barely stand to look at himself before yesterday. Now, his existence made him sick, and he didn't want to look at his reflection for longer than was necessary.

As his magic was tying the laces on his shoes, a knock sounded out at the door. He hesitated, casting a sour look towards it. He knew he had to see and be seen sooner or later, but he wanted it to be on his terms, not because someone was essentially forcing him out into the world.

_Knock, knock, knock._

It sounded insistent.

"Salazar, fuck," he grumbled to himself as he stormed over to the door. He ripped it open. "What the fuck do you - oh."

Granger stood there. Upon his less-than-friendly greeting, she stared up at him wide-eyed. Her skin paled, like she'd just seen a ghost outside of the Great Hall, and she fidgeted with her fingernails in front of her.

"Were you -" She looked down and cleared her throat. "Were you expecting someone else?"

Draco pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the frame of his door. He regarded her down the length of his nose with caution.

"No," he replied. He opened his mouth to say more, but found that the words did not exist.

She wore a decidedly-Muggle outfit, which was unsurprising, seeing as none of the Eighth Years ever wore their uniforms or robes. It consisted of a brown plaid pleated skirt that was much shorter than any Pureblood witch would ever be caught wearing, and an oversized coffee-colored fleece cardigan with pearl buttons. She wore the cardigan tucked into the front of the skirt, and the sleeves seemed too long for her. Her legs were clad in opaque black pantyhose and her feet were dressed in black ankle boots that laced up. Her long curls had been flattened into pin-straight strands with some charm or another, and were pulled forward over the front of one shoulder to hang down to the lower part of her abdomen.

It was strange, seeing her with her hair straight. She looked stunning, the sort of beauty that strikes one and leaves them speechless. But now that her curls were gone, he found that he missed them. She appeared unlike herself.

Granger's gaze listed past his body, into the innards of his dorm room, and then she looked up at him.

"Are you . . . You weren't at breakfast," she said.

Draco fought the urge to give her a look of confusion. Why would she notice or care if he'd been to breakfast? She shouldn't want to be anywhere near him.

"I wasn't," he said. _You're stupid, Draco. Fucking daft._

"Did you want to stop and grab a piece of fruit, or something?"

"Stop?" He narrowed his eyes a fraction.

She cleared her throat a second time. He could see the puzzle pieces of her bravery slowly fitting together in her eyes. "Yes, on the way to Headmistress McGonagall's office."

Draco cursed inwardly. He'd forgotten about their agreement. He was to help her through the previous day, and she was to go to McGonagall's with him first thing the morning after. He may have been selfish, but he was a Slytherin. Slytherins never broke their accords.

"Right," he said, pulling his lower lip in-between his teeth.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth and then quickly bounced back up. "So . . . Shall we?"

He gave a curt nod. "I just need my bag."

It felt like each step took a million years. Finally, he had his hand on the strap of his satchel. He stepped out into the hallway of the common room and didn't miss the fact that she lingered momentarily in place before eventually taking a step back. He turned, wand in hand, and twirled it to lock the door. He took a beat, and then turned to face her.

"How did you get into the common room?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, and then she looked over her shoulder. "One of the Third Years let me in. She was late for breakfast."

"Oh," Draco echoed. He slipped his wand up into his sleeve, eyeing her for a moment.

It was safe to say, judging by the discomfort in the shrug of her shoulders and the way her gaze kept darting about, that she harbored regrets about yesterday. He just didn't know which parts.

"To McGonagall's?"

"Yes," she said, her gaze seeming glued to the neckline of his rather casual shirt. She started to speak again. "Um, Draco?"

He blinked. _Draco_?

". . . Yeah?"

She lowered her head, and he saw her wring her hands for a moment. He frowned. She had nothing to be nervous over. _He_ was the one who had gone too far the previous day. _He_ was the one who deserved to burn.

"Thank you," she said in a soft voice. "For yesterday. If it . . . If you hadn't . . . Well, my options were you, or Neville Longbottom, and I don't think Luna would have been happy about that."

Draco felt her words spearing directly to the center of his heart. He supposed he should have known that he was her choice by default. He knew he didn't deserve her, that he had no right to feel offended, but he certainly did feel hurt.

"You're welcome," he said, slowly placing his Occlumency walls up. "And, I'm sorry."

"For?" Her eyes widened.

"Using Legilimency on you." He averted his eyes and adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "I would have asked, but, well, I think you would have told me no."

Her cheeks flared bright red and she dropped her head once more. "It's all right. You did the right thing. I don't think I would have been able to -" Her eyes widened again. "What I mean to say is, the potion had gotten too strong. Honestly, if it had gotten any stronger, which it would have if you hadn't done what you did, I don't think I would have been able to - to bear it."

That thought sobered Draco for a moment. She'd already been out of control. The fact that she could have gotten worse just made him angrier than ever at Richter and Poe. Going to McGonagall was a good idea.

"Did you," she said, "not want to go to McGonagall's anymore?"

"I want to," he said through clenched teeth, his hands knuckle-white around his bag strap. He glared down the hall. "If I don't, I might go find Richter myself. And that would be bad for multiple reasons."

She stared at him, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. Then, she nodded.

"Let's go," Draco said, not knowing what else to say.

"Let's."

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall hadn't done anything to change Professor Dumbledore's office.

It looked exactly the way it had when he'd passed, portraits, book-lined walls, and all. The desk at the center looked the same, only now it had a golden name marker upon the center of it with McGonagall's full name on it.

He supposed it made sense, not changing anything. His mother hadn't changed a single thing in the Manor since Lucius went to Azkaban, and he had a feeling she never would.

Draco fought back a grimace as he walked beneath the large portrait of Professor Dumbledore. It was located on the wall to the left of the door, above the bookshelves. The grizzled old man simply stared down at him with the same infuriatingly-patient smile he'd worn when he was alive. It felt like it was stripping his sins bare and laying them all out on a metaphorical table to be examined. It reminded Draco that he had a lot to feel guilty for.

"Take a seat, if you would," McGonagall said as she bustled around the side of her desk. She waved her hand and two armchairs cushioned with red velvet appeared in front of her desk, facing her. "I have a Seventh Year student watching over my Second Year Transfiguration class, and if I leave them too long, several wizards and witches are going to end up with enhancements that their parents would not approve of."

Draco waited until Granger moved ahead of him, then followed her to the chairs. They both sat down, Granger in a relaxed manner and Draco with more rigid posture. He knew this was necessary, but he also knew that if they weren't careful, McGonagall was going to find out exactly what they'd had to do yesterday to get Granger through the day and part of the evening. He wished he and Granger had discussed it on the way to the office, but they'd just walked in awkward silence.

"So," McGonagall said as she took a seat in the much larger, taller chair across the desk. She folded her hands in front of her and looked at them shrewdly over her half-moon glasses. "What seems to be the problem, Hermione? And why is Mr. Malfoy present?"

Draco looked down at his hands, which were resting mid-thigh.

"You need to send an owl out to the Auror Department," Granger said, the shy tone she'd used with him completely replaced by her typical matter-of-fact one. "Post-haste. A crime was committed yesterday."

Draco almost cringed. Why did she have to say it that way? His fingers curled tightly in the fabric of his trousers.

"What did you do, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked with a sigh. She was pulling a quill out of a silver holder and preparing to write on parchment she'd conjured.

"It wasn't me!" Draco cried. He lowered his voice and glared at her. "I didn't do anything. It was Elias Richter and -"

"William Poe," Granger finished, exchanging a glance with Draco. She looked at McGonagall. "I was dosed with an illegal lust potion at breakfast yesterday."

McGonagall looked back at Granger, her shock visible on her face. "Excuse me?"

Granger pointed to the parchment. "Please ask for Harry or Ron to come. I don't want anyone else involved, or else it will end up in tomorrow's issue of the _Prophet."_

McGonagall scrawled a missive quickly, and then snapped her fingers. One of the windows behind her swung open and moments later, a small brown owl winged into the room. She rolled the parchment and the owl took it from her. After she patted its feathery head, the owl soared back out into the sky.

"Please explain what happened," McGonagall said, leaving the window open. The air outside was freezing, but Draco felt heat surrounding him from some sort of perpetual warming charm similar to the one that had been in Hagrid's Hut.

"I'll explain my side," Granger said, pointing to herself, and then to Draco. "And then Draco can explain his."

McGonagall's gaze roved over Draco's face, and then went to Granger's again. She nodded.

Granger spoke like she was delivering a medical report.

"Yesterday, everything was completely normal for me until my first class of the day. I began to notice my body temperature rising, as well as certain attractions materializing and strengthening. Then, in my second class of the day, those attractions and the fever increased. The side effects of the potion then continued to increase for the remainder of the day, clear into the night. I was determined to maintain my bodily autonomy and follow my daily schedule, especially with the Valentine's Day party, so I approached Draco and asked him to assist me throughout the rest of the potion's potency. Draco?"

Draco swallowed, jolting when he realized both women were waiting for him to speak. He relayed his side of the story, leaving out the details of the potion's effects and his less-than-legal casting of the Cruciatus curse and his Legilimency usage, as well as his intent to have woken up early to stop them. He didn't know if he'd get in trouble for it, but he was more concerned with Granger finding out the reason why she'd been dosed was because he was dense and slept through his wand alarm. It seemed trite and mortifying.

When he was done speaking, McGonagall looked more troubled than he'd ever seen her, besides the night of the Battle of Hogwarts last May.

"This is grievous. Most grievous." She held a hand over her heart. "And it is an act that will _not_ go unpunished."

"It's thanks to Draco that I made it out without something horrid happening," Granger said, and she shot Draco a small smile that threatened to stop his heart. "He was very brave, and Slytherin deserves some House points for his actions."

Draco resisted the urge to sneer. Why did Granger have to be so clinical about everything? As if he would do what he'd done to assist her for some measly House points. It was almost disgusting to equate her trauma to some green emeralds in a glass tube.

"Yes, well," McGonagall said with a slight twinkle to her eyes. "Fifty points to Slytherin."

"And fifty more from me," Granger said, and she sounded like she had no idea that Draco didn't want any points.

He just wanted her to be safe.

"Did Mr. Richter and Mr. Poe discuss the name of the potion that was used?" McGonagall asked Draco, and then she looked at Granger. "And what were the specific side effects that you experienced?"

 _Fuck_.

"They said it was called Cupere," Draco said, running an anxious hand through his hair and shifting in his seat. "Richter bought it from a wizard in Knockturn Alley during the Winter holidays."

"As to the effects," Granger said quietly, sounding nervous for the first time since entering the office, "they were nothing like the effects of a typical love potion. It caused me -"

McGonagall held up a hand for silence. When she spoke, Draco could hear the anger lying dormant in her tone. "That's quite enough, Hermione. I know exactly what Cupere is, and what it does. And it's _highly_ illegal to purchase, let alone to use it on someone. Rest assured, both Mr. Richter and Mr. Poe will be arrested for this."

She withdrew her wand from the sleeve of her robes.

" _Expecto patronum_ ," she said, and a silver light burst forth from the tip of her wand.

Draco watched in awe as it turned into a large striped cat, having himself never been able to cast a Patronus.

"Give this message to Mr. Filch," McGonagall said to the cat. "'Please retrieve Mr. Elias Richter and Mr. William Poe from their respective first period classes and bring them to my office at _once_. Do _not_ dally!'"

The Patronus gave a silent meow and then loped off, phasing through the door as though it weren't there. Draco watched it go, marveling. He'd never seen anyone other than Potter send out a Patronus charm, and that was one time during the Battle of Hogwarts. He knew from his studies that in order to cast one, one needed to think of a happy memory. But when Draco tried to think of a truly happy memory, they all seemed tinged with sadness, pain, or regret.

He turned back around, and Granger began to speak.

"You said you know what Cupere is," she said. "And I know that it is a lust potion from Ancient Rome that was used for the wedding night. Do you know what exactly it is beyond that, Minerva?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up at hearing her refer to McGonagall by her first name. It never ceased to amaze him just how close the Golden Trio was with their professors.

"I do," McGonagall said in a tight voice, and her eyes traveled back and forth between them both. "You are correct. Cupere is an Ancient Roman lust potion with usage reports that date back to about 600 BC. It was indeed used by witches and wizards for their wedding night, for the intention of encouraging pregnancy. It lasts 24 hours, and then it wears off quite abruptly. The potion was phased out naturally by modified and updated fertility potions around the 1100's. So, it was used for a very, very long time. The recipe is only located in the Italian Ministry of Magic's archives, and the brew itself is even more scarce. The fact that Mr. Richter was able to procure it in Knockturn Alley is as surprising as it is abhorrent."

"What are the chances that the potion was a false?" Granger asked, sounding worried.

"It is virtually impossible to replicate the effects Cupere is known for, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, voice strained. She held Granger's gaze over her glasses. "Effects that you and Mr. Malfoy must know well, I presume."

Draco's mind screamed at him. This was humiliating. His Headmaster - his Transfiguration professor since First Year - knew what Draco and Granger had done, and it was nightmarish.

"We do," Granger answered, ever the astute one. "I'm glad, Minerva, that you understand why this is so dire."

Before the professor could respond, the door swung open. Mr. Filch stumbled in, in the way he always seemed to stumble about. He towed Richter and Poe in behind him by the ear. They were sniveling, as weaklings were wont to do. Draco knew better than anyone that a caught bully was just a coward wearing a liar's mask.

"I've brought 'em to ye," Mr. Filch grated out, blinking his oily eyes and smirking. "Where d'ye want 'em, Miss McGonagall?"

McGonagall beamed across the room at him, in the sort of way that alarmed as well as repulsed Draco. He watched the disturbing sight of his professor batting her eyelashes.

"Thank you, Argus, dear. Please, just leave them here with me. You've done well."

Draco couldn't help it. He exchanged wide-eyed glances with Granger.

Their professor, Minerva McGonagall, had the hots for Mr. Filch.

_What?_

Mr. Filch huffed and his smirk faltered into a small smile that looked out of place on his grizzled face. He let go of the boys, who rubbed their ears and pouted at the floor. He growled at them, because he was a brute, and then presented McGonagall with a flourishing bow.

"If ye'd like anythin' else, marm, I shall be obliged to provide," he said, voice muffled from his stance.

"Thank you, Argus, that will be all," McGonagall said. "You needn't bow."

Mr. Filch backed away, still in his bow. "Of course, marm. Of course."

The door creaked shut almost painfully slowly, and a tiny sound escaped Granger's lips. Both McGonagall and Draco looked at her.

Granger ducked her head to hide her smile. "Friendly, isn't he, Minerva?"

McGonagall's shrewd expression returned like lightning, the tops of her cheeks turning pink. "Yes, Argus is a dear friend, Hermione. Though painful, I think it prudent to remind you that life does not end after the age of twenty-nine."

Granger's jaw dropped, and she looked embarrassed. Draco felt something swelling in his chest and his back straightened further than it already had been.

"Could we get back to the matter at hand?" He cast a slow glance over his shoulder at Richter and Poe, who looked for all the world like two toddlers with their hands caught in a jar of their mother's jam.

McGonagall arched one eyebrow in his direction, seeing right past his attempt at subtlety. "Mr. Malfoy, surely you don't subscribe to your father's antiquated ideas about witches? An unwed witch is _not_ a pariah. She doesn't shrivel up and rot the moment she wakes on the first day of her thirtieth year. Far be it from Lucius to teach you these things, but the ovaries do remain _moist_."

" _Professor McGonagall_!" Granger gasped.

Draco felt like he was going to pass out.

McGonagall went on, rising to her feet. "I would think that your experiences yesterday with Miss Granger and the Cupere would remind you that a witch's body is a unique and," Draco felt his stomach churn, " _virile_ thing."

" _Thank you,_ Minerva!" Granger cried, hands on her own cheeks.

McGonagall looked like she was about to say something else, reminding Draco of his mother when she was frustrated with his father's nagging, and then she turned her attentions to the culprits behind them.

"Mr. Richter, Mr. Poe," she said, all traces of shrewdness gone to be replaced by bridled rage. "Normally, in the instances of accusation, I would ask the accused if they committed a crime. But I think everyone in this room can attest to the fact that Miss Granger would not lie about something like this. You know that of which I speak - you _know_ why we are all here. You should be ashamed of yourselves for what you've done. The Aurors are on their way. Explain yourselves to me. _Now_."

Richter remained stubborn and silent, his head hanging down. Poe's reaction was immediate.

"I tried to tell him it wasn't a good idea, Headmistress," the stouter student said. "I tried to tell him that it was wrong. He was insistent. He was - he was relentless. All Elias wanted was to punish Granger for . . . Um, for . . ."

This arsehole was seriously trying to pin it on Richter? Salazar, if he had to pick one of the duo that reminded him the most of himself, Draco would have to pick Poe. The fool was all talk until someone poked him in the chest, and then he deflated.

Draco slowly rose to his feet, his stare intensifying to a withering glare that caused Poe to trail off and regard him with fear.

"I seem to remember your conversation quite differently," Draco hissed out as he stalked towards them. He felt McGonagall and Granger's gazes following him, even as he withdrew his wand. He hadn't wanted Granger to know the specifics of the conversation he'd overheard, but these were desperate times. "If I recall, Poe, you were the one who called her a filthy golem. When Richter said he wanted you to hold her down, your response was ' _The Golden Girl won't be so golden by tomorrow night_.' Richter may have been the one to procure the potion, dose her, and touch her skin in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but you . . . You are complicit."

Draco came to a stop before Poe, the tip of his wand digging into the base of his throat. He looked terrified, his entire body quivering. Richter had stepped away, holding up his hands in front of him in a defensive position. Draco paid him no mind.

Poe reminded Draco of himself when he was younger, and that was why he had to focus on him.

"I should turn your insides to acid," Draco snarled. "Standing by to watch while the world ends is just as bad as destroying it, and you should know what it feels like to burn, too."

 _Take your own advice,_ he thought to himself. _Take your own fucking advice, Draco_.

"I'm sorry," Poe squeaked out, his head drawing as far back on his shoulders as possible. "I didn't - I should've - I . . ." His gaze flickered downward just as Draco felt a hand covering his. "I'm sorry, Granger."

Draco froze, holding his breath. It was Granger whose hand was on his. Granger's skin was touching his. He gritted his jaw, waiting.

Then, she whispered, "Draco, lower your wand."

He felt his heart beating faster from lack of oxygen. He wanted to turn Poe to ash.

" _Draco_." Granger's other hand curved around his shoulder, and the first one pushed down on his hand to try and force him to drop it. "I'm _fine_. Look at me. I'm _fine_."

Draco's head turned and he looked down into her eyes. She looked so sincere, more sincere than he deserved. She nodded in encouragement.

"See? I'm all right." Her thumb caressed the back of his palm. "I'm fine."

Draco exhaled heavily. She was fine. The potion had run its course. She was fine.

_But she's not okay._

"Step back, Lucius," McGonagall said with an abrupt click of her tongue. She stepped closer. "We'll let the Aurors handle them. There's no need to resort to medieval sorcery."

Thoroughly mollified, Draco shoved his wand back up into his sleeve, turned, and walked with a stiff gait to stand beside his seat. Granger cast him a quick, unreadable glance over her shoulder. Then, she turned back to face Poe and Richter, her hair whipping out around her. She spoke.

"I won't be allowing you two to leave without speaking my piece," she said, her voice like molten rock over ice. "What you did to me was . . . It was _abhorrent_. You took away my right to consent. You took away the control of my body. You turned me into a lamb for the slaughter, and if it weren't for Draco Malfoy, I could have been _raped_. Though I suspect that's the goal you had in mind, wasn't it? To leave me helpless so you could get to me?"

Richter and Poe hung their heads again, their hands balled into fists at their sides. It was almost comical, seeing the shorter girl hissing and spitting up at them like an angry cat in a skirt. She talked with her hands when she was passionate about something, he noticed.

"Why did you do this to me?"

Silence.

"One of you better answer me." She ripped her wand out of the sleeve of her jumper.

"Because," Richter suddenly snarled. "Because you think you're better than the rest of us just because you're the Golden Girl. Because you think that everyone should bow down to you. Because you think that since you helped King Potter, you wear a crown." He chuckled, rolling his head to crack his neck. He took a step toward Granger, and Draco saw that his hand was convulsing.

Draco tried not to smirk, knowing that his shaking was a result of the Cruciatus. A little gift from him that he hoped Richter would have for months to come. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching in silence as Richter continued.

"And _I_ felt that it was time to show you that the only reason why you're Head Girl - the only reason why you had the ability to give us detention for an entire month for something petty was because you were under Harry Potter's wing. It was high time to remind you that without him, you're _nothing_."

"You were skiving off class to snog Fifth Years in the Astronomy Tower. Not only is that reprehensible, but it's against the rules to skive class and fraternize in the hallways. It may not be illegal since you both are still sixteen, but it may as well be. _That_ is why I gave you detention. I'm not nothing. But you? You're something." Granger tilted her chin up to be able to hold Richter's gaze. "You're a selfish, cowardly, weak _rapist_."

Richter bared his teeth like fangs and stepped so close to Granger that their bodies touched. "And that is why I would have loved to get my hands on you, you -"

"Shut your mouth, Elias," Granger said in a sharp, loud tone. "I may not wear a crown, but I'll show you how a queen deals with those who scurry beneath her feet like sewer rats. I can do _much_ worse than hex bats to come out of your nose. Or would you like to test me?"

At that, Draco smirked.

Richter's face reddened with fury, a vein sticking out on the left side of his forehead. His hands rose, aiming directly for her neck.

"Mr. Richter!" McGonagall exclaimed, moving forward in warning. "Step _back_."

Draco felt panic and rage growing within him. Just the thought of Richter touching a hair on her head again made him feel murderous. He stepped forward with every intention of finishing what he'd started with Richter the night before, but suddenly, the Floo flared to life.

The green flames spat rose and when they fell, both Potter and the Weaselbee came strolling out of the fireplace with a purpose. They were clad in the bordeaux-colored robes of Junior Aurors, simple dark shirts and trousers and each had a wand holster on their hip. The Weasel looked shorter than usual, now that Draco was the same height as him. Potter appeared scruffy, like he hadn't shaved or cut his hair in a month.

There was a split second of silence as Draco, who was standing nearest to the Floo, locked eyes with them both.

They both drew their wands and trained them upon Draco. He raised his hands cautiously, narrowing his eyes at them. He may have feelings for Granger, but there was no love lost between him and the other two points of the Golden Triangle.

"Should have known it'd be _you,"_ Weasley spat, his eyes traveling the length of Draco's body.

"I'm surprised to see you," Draco shot back, hands still up. "How'd you move from intern to Junior Auror so quickly, Weaselbee?"

Weasley brandished his wand. "I was never an intern, prat. I've always been a Junior Auror, just like Harry. What d'you know of it?"

"What did you do to Hermione?" Potter added, his emerald-green eyes blazing from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "If you fess up, perhaps we might be convinced to take you directly to Azkaban without parading you through the Ministry for the papers."

"Oh, honestly! Stop it, you three!" Granger left Richter and Poe and walked to Draco's side. She planted herself firmly in front of him, her hands on her hips. Draco felt a small measure of relief spreading through his body and he lowered his hands.

"Hermione?" Weasley's eyebrows rose.

"Draco didn't do anything wrong," she said, tossing her hair back with a shrug of her head. "So, if you'll kindly drop your wands."

" _Draco_?!" Weasley's voice dripped with contempt. He didn't heed her request.

She pointed at Richter and Poe. " _They_ are the ones who dosed me."

Harry's arm fell to his side. " _Dosed_ you?!"

"Yes, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum," Draco said in a snide tone. "If you weren't so busy walking down memory lane with me, then you'd see that there's other people in the room with us."

"Draco," Granger scolded.

"Please!" McGongall said, moving forward and holding her arms out slightly. "Please, settle down. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, who sent you?"

"The Head Auror," Potter said, shoving his wand back into its holster. "He said you owled saying that a crime had been committed, and that you had requested me and Ron specifically."

"What's happened, then?" Weasley lowered his wand the tiniest of fractions, glaring over the top of Granger's head at Draco.

"Miss Granger - Hermione," McGonagall said, "was illegally dosed with a lust potion called Cupere. It has been illegal for the past three hundred years to use lust potions without prior consent, and Hermione most certainly did _not_ consent."

" _What?_!" Weasley roared, whirling to face Richter and Poe. He took a threatening step forward and then whirled back to face Granger. " _What_ did they do to you?!"

"Hermione, you had better start explaining," Potter said, sounding enraged. "Otherwise, I'm going to let Ron hex the bollocks off of them. Then, I'm going to put them back and hex them off again."

"And what's _he_ doing here?" Weasley growled, eyes narrowing at Draco.

"Draco is the only reason why I didn't end up in a worse situation," Granger said, her back straightening. Draco resisted the urge to put his hands on her shoulders in a possessive gesture. She didn't belong to him. He had no right. "Draco is the one who overheard them discussing their plans, and he's the one who protected me all day from them, and from everyone else. Cupere is a highly potent potion from Ancient Rome that almost entirely erases the affected's ability to consent to sexual activity from the opposite sex. So, you understand the gravity of the service Draco has done."

 _Service_? Draco felt a sour taste spring up to the back of his throat. He had helped her because he cared. Not because he was doing some sort of public service.

" _Why?"_ Potter and Weasley said at the same time.

Granger started to speak, but Draco was first to the bit.

"Because I care," he blurted out. "Is that an issue?"

Everyone in the room - including Richter and Poe - looked at him. He felt the anxiety of attention drawing his walls up higher.

"It's an issue when the person you care about is the person you probably wished dead before the war," Weasley said, sounding angry. "What's all this? What _is_ this?"

"Stop!" Granger cried, throwing her hands up into the air. "It's not your business right now. You are here to help me and in order to help me _and_ do your job, you need to focus on the situation without being emotional."

"Then why did you ask us here?" Potter huffed. "Asking me, I understand. But Ron? He's a ticking time bomb, Hermione."

" _Hey_!" Weasley scowled.

"Enough," McGonagall snapped. "Miss Granger, I followed your instructions. Now, please follow mine. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Arrest them."

There was a tiny amount of silence, and then something snapped into place in the air.

"What are their names?" Potter growled, drawing his wand again. "Because I'll need them to make the official arrest."

"Elias Richter," Granger said, and she sounded as smug as a Slytherin with a checkmate. "And William Poe."

"Thanks, Hermione," Potter said.

Together, Potter and Weasley walked over to stand in front of Richter and Poe. The two culprits looked thoroughly terrified as the Aurors raised their wands.

 _Not so tough when it's a wizard he's facing,_ Draco thought, glowering at Richter. Men like that - men who could act tough in front of a woman because they were tougher than her - made him physically ill.

"Together, then?" Potter said.

Weasley nodded. "Together."

Simultaneously, they said, " _Expelliarmus_. _Incarcerous_."

As glowing yellow ropes materialized to wrap their way around the arms of Richter and Poe, their wands soared into the air. McGonagall caught them both with ease. She handed them to Potter, who shrunk them down and stuck them into his pocket.

"Care to do the honors?" Potter asked Weasley. "It's your first arrest and all."

"Ron!" Granger cried, practically skipping to his side. "This is your first arrest? That's wonderful!"

Draco blinked in astonishment. The Golden Trio was so bizarre. They were arresting two people who'd tried to hurt Granger in a grievous manner, and she was taking time to congratulate the Weaselbee?

"That it is," Weasley said with a wolflike grin. He drew his shoulders back. "I've been partner for months, but this is the first time I'm reading the rights."

McGonagall leaned forward. "Perhaps you should do that, then."

"Oh!" Granger laughed and stepped back. "By all means."

 _She is_ laughing _. How in Salazar's Hell is she able to_ laugh _at a time like this?_

"Elias Richter and William Poe," Weasley said, looking the two Slytherins in the eye. Poe looked contrite, with big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks; Richter just sneered. "You are under arrest for the illegal use of a lust potion without prior consent, attempted sexual assault, and . . . What would the last one be called?"

Potter and Granger both exchanged amused glances, and Draco felt like his head was spinning.

 _Bloody Gryffindors_.

Potter leaned in and said in an almost sardonic tone, "Potion trafficking."

Weasley nodded. "Right, and potion trafficking. You have the right to remain silent, though if you tried to talk, I'd cut your tongues out. Anything you say from here forthwith can be used against you in front of the Wizengamot, though I'm fairly certain Potter will be able to Legilimency the _fuck_ out of you and find out the truth. You're not getting an Law Auror if I can help it, and I'm going to personally ask Shacklebolt not to appoint you one, yeah? If you say anything - answer any questions that prove your guilt - you'd better just shut up. You're fucked."

"Ron, that's . . . Not really how you're supposed to . . ." Potter sighed and shook his head. "Nevermind. It'll do. Fuck the both of you, and I hope you rot in Azkaban. And that's off the record."

They used their wands and a _levicorpus_ to tote the boys behind them as they strode back to the Floo.

Then, Potter stopped.

"Wait a minute," he said.

Draco frowned, his gaze darting about as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

"What exactly _is_ Cupere?" Potter turned around, and his glare honed in on Draco. "What is it, what does it do, and why did she need your help, Malfoy?"

Draco muttered, "Not exactly thorough at your job, are you?"

"You shut up!" Weasley said, holding his wand on the prisoners and pointing his finger at Draco with his other hand. "Answer his questions!"

McGongall said, "Boys, please -"

Draco felt the challenge radiating off of Potter in waves, and he knew there was no way he could back down. Not when he knew exactly what Potter was insinuating. Not when the look of horror on his face when he realized what exactly Draco had helped her with would be oh, so sweet.

 _Selfish, selfish_ , his own voice taunted him in his head.

"Cupere is a lust potion that causes orgasms whenever a member of the opposite sex touches the skin of the poisoned individual," Draco said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers as though the conversation were friendly. Granger whirled around to look at him in warning, but he ignored her. "Granger asked me to help her through the day so she could keep to her schedule, and I so graciously obliged."

Potter studied him for a moment, and the moment realization dawned and the horror spread across his face, Draco's lips curved up into a smirk.

_Oh, so sweet._

"You didn't," Potter snarled.

"What?" Weasley cried. "What did he do?! What the fuck did he do?!"

Potter crossed the room towards Draco quickly. "I spoke for you. I spoke for you at your trial."

"And it was much appreciated," Draco said, unflinching even as Potter nearly collided with him. "But Granger needed my help."

"And you just _had_ to be the one to provide it. Didn't you?" Potter's voice dripped with ire.

"Harry, stop!" Granger shoved her hands between them and pushed Potter back a couple of steps. "I _asked_ him for his help."

"Why?"

"What the bloody Hell is going _on_?!" Weasley snarled.

McGonagall gave a loud, exasperated sigh and threw her hands up. The gesture went unnoticed by the teens in the chaos.

"I was just doing her a _service_ ," Draco spat out with bitterness, holding Granger's gaze with narrow eyes for a moment.

She glared. "Why are you acting like this? That wasn't how it was, and you know it. You aren't like this, so stop acting this way!"

"And how would you know what he's like, then?!" Weasley lowered his wand, causing Richter and Poe to crash down to the floor in a crumpled, groaning heap. He came to stand beside Potter. "Someone better tell me what's happening."

Draco had about had it with the two of them. "Granger asked me to help her with the potion yesterday, so I did. And that means that I gave her orgasms all day yesterday. Over and over again. Until she could hardly stand it. Something you wouldn't know much about, Weaselbee, since you couldn't find the clitoris with your eyes open."

" _Draco Malfoy!"_ Granger cried at the same time that McGongall exclaimed, " _Mr. Malfoy_!"

"Draco, stop this right _now_ ," Granger said, her voice shaking and eyes blazing. Draco felt his heart sink. He'd never seen her look so angry. Fuck, he was such a git. "If I had known you were going to be this much of a prat _,_ I would have just suffered in silence."

Draco turned his head, shame coloring his cheeks darker.

"Ron, Harry," she went on, "Neither of you understand. I was faced with an impossible choice: surrender my bodily autonomy and go to the Infirmary, letting it ruin my day. Or be strong, take control, and choose who I wanted to be the one to go through it with. I chose the latter. Now, I stand by my decision to choose Draco. I stand by my decision to do what I want with _my_ body, without owing explanations to men who think they deserve them simply because they're my friends. I asked Minerva to ask for you two specifically because I needed my _friends_. As my _friends_ , I need you to do your jobs and take them away before I curse them into permanent paralysis!"

In the silence that followed, Draco found that he felt too ashamed to lift his eyes from the ground. He knew better than anyone what Granger had gone through. Acting like a group of boys in a hallway brawl was wrong and insensitive to her. He knew that, yet he'd still sparred words with Weasley and Potter at her expense.

He almost felt like they should arrest him, too.

"How do we know that it was these two who did it?" Weasley asked, sounding disgusted. "What if it was Malfoy? He could be lying to save his own skin."

Granger sighed so heavily that it was like she aged ten years in one second. She crossed her arms. "I don't know, Ron. We could try Veritaserum?"

Horror filled Draco's body and his head snapped up. Granger wanted to subject loss of consent and bodily autonomy on _him_? For _their_ sake? How did Granger not see an issue with this?

The moment he looked into the gleam of Potter's eyes, he knew he was done for.

"Yes, I think that would be best," Potter said with a smug smile. "After all, we want to be _thorough_ , don't we?"

 _Shite,_ Draco thought, clenching his teeth so hard that they ached. _Shite, shite._

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't resist without looking guilty and he knew that he had done nothing wrong. His word was enough for Granger, but it wasn't enough for Potter and Weasley. And they were the ones he needed to convince - they were the arresting Aurors.

"What do you think, Professor?" Potter asked.

The four of them turned to look at the Headmistress, who was eyeing Richter and Poe. They'd managed to struggle to their knees in front of the Floo, and neither looked happy. Draco knew it was because the Veritaserum would all but solidify their guilt, but that wasn't what he was worried about. Draco was worried about the fact that he was being given virtually no choice in this.

McGonagall nodded. "Very well. While I do believe your words, Hermione, I think questioning the only witness we have would be best. Mr. Malfoy, take a seat, if you please."

With great reluctance, Draco sat down in the seat. He saw McGonagall wave her wand and the chair turned to face the assembly. He didn't think Occlusion would do him any good once the potion was administered, but he forced his walls up in the meantime so that he could keep a stoic expression on his face. Granger, Potter, and Weasley stood before him, each with differing expressions on their faces. Granger looked unperturbed and confident, which showed him that she really was oblivious to his turmoil. Potter looked self-satisfied, his hands on his hips as though he were a father disciplining his cheeky son. Weasley appeared angry, as usual, and wore a scowl like a second skin.

"A single drop should do, Mr. Malfoy. Open, please."

McGonagall appeared by his side, having retrieved the potion from an elaborate cabinet on the other side of the room with a wave of her wand. Draco kept his eyes down as he obeyed. After one drop of the ice-cold brew landed on his tongue, she instructed him to close his mouth. The moment he did, he felt the magic of the Veritaserum spreading through his body. It ran along his veins, to the tips of his fingers. His mind grew hazy with a traitorous fog.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, standing beside Granger. "Please start by stating your name, grade, and House."

The fog cleared momentarily, and the answers came forward.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. Eighth Year. Slytherin."

Weasley sneered at that, but no one else reacted.

"What occurred the night of February the 13th?" McGonagall continued.

The fog spread open again, and the answers spilled out. It was awful, even though he didn't try to fight. Draco felt completely helpless.

"I was reading a novel in the Slytherin common room, and Richter and Poe were on the couch. I overheard them discussing their intent to poison Granger with the Cupere. Richter detailed the plans; Poe listened, agreed, and responded in a way that implied to me that he intended to be involved. They -"

"Did they state why?" Potter interjected.

Draco glowered at him, gritting his teeth for a moment. Answering McGonagall was one thing. Answering Potter was another.

He spat out, "A detention was discussed. Granger apparently gave them detention, and they were upset about it. They asked me if I had any input, and I told them no. Then, I went to bed."

"What happened the morning of the 14th?" Potter asked.

Draco's cheeks burned with shame again. "I set an alarm the night before so I could wake and try to stop them. I -"

"Why would you do that?" Weasley said.

Draco closed his eyes, feeling the magic vibrating through his body. He gasped as he failed to keep the answer inside. "Because I care about her, and I didn't want them to hurt her."

The tension increased in the room as everyone exchanged glances. Draco hung his head. This was mortifying. Couldn't Granger see how mortifying this was?

Potter said, "Finish telling us what happened that morning."

Draco lifted his head a bit, his heart sinking even lower with his embarrassment and guilt. "I slept through the alarm. I missed it and I had a panic attack for somewhere around thirty minutes while I got ready. Then -"

"You had time to _get ready_ , in the midst of this so-called _'panic attack_ ', when you thought you had a time limit to stop this crime from occurring?" Potter's incredulity rang like a somber bell in Draco's foggy mind. "You had time for all this, and yet you say you _care_ about Hermione?"

"Harry," Granger said softly, scolding. Draco couldn't look at her, the mingling betrayal and mortification keeping his gaze pinned down.

"I was having a panic attack," Draco said, staring at the stone floor. "I worried that there were a lot of things that could go wrong. I was torn because she might think I was lying, tricking her, or had done it myself and was trying to cover it up." The rest of the answer was there, the truth of him worrying he wasn't good enough to even sit by her, and he began to sweat as he struggled to keep it in.

Thankfully, Potter asked another question, and it redirected the magic.

"After you got ready, what happened?"

Draco let out a short, relieved breath, his hands curving around the arms of the chair. "I went to the Great Hall and I -" He stumbled over his words in his attempt to skirt around how stricken he'd been by her beauty. "I was too late. She'd already been dosed by then."

"How do you _know_ this?"

"She was already eating, and Richter had said he was going to dose her food," Draco said. "I assumed."

"When did Hermione ask you for your help?"

"Harry, is this _really_ necessary?" Granger interrupted. "You wanted to know if he did it; it's clear that he didn't."

Potter sighed and threw his hands up. "All right, all right. I -"

"I have questions of my own," Weasley interrupted, taking a step forward. Before anyone could react, he was already asking it. "Did you know what the potion would do when you agreed to help her, and why would you agree to that when you've hated her for the past eight years?"

The magic went haywire, bouncing back and forth between answers. Draco went rigid, his heart racing and sweat beading on his brow. He didn't want to answer this question. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Answer the question!" Weasley practically roared.

Draco gasped and choked out, "Yes. I knew what it would do, and what it meant. I agreed because I - I -"

"Answer it."

" _Fuck you,"_ Draco growled before a violent pain wracked his body.

" _Answer the fucking question_!" Weasley yelled, shrugging off Potter's hand on his arm as he loomed over Draco's seat. "Why, knowing what the potion did, would you agree to help her with this?"

A drop of sweat rolled down the side of Draco's face. He fought it. He fought it as hard as he could with his will and his Occlumency and his magic, but it was like a paper dam. It dissipated easily, and the answer spilled out before he could stop it.

"Because I'm attracted to her."

 _No. Fucking no, no, no. That's all wrong. It's completely out of context._ Draco's panicked thoughts rushed through his mind like an angry river, and he slowly lifted his eyes to look up at Granger. She looked down at him with yet another unreadable expression. He wished she could read his mind. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, that's not why I did it. I swear._

"Huh." Weasley's anger melted into astonishment and he placed one hand on his hip. With the other hand, he rubbed his chin. "Well, that's news to me."

What little of Draco's bravado remained fell apart and he hung his head the way he had every night that he went to sleep in Azkaban. He felt emotions roiling within him, from betrayal to anger to humiliation, and he found that even if he could look at Granger, he didn't want to.

_How could she do this to me?_

"That's enough," Granger said, clearing her throat. "That's quite enough. I think you have the answers you need, Ron, Harry. Please, can you just take them away?"

As the Golden Trio headed to the Floo, their hushed whispers barely breaking through Draco's seething inner consternation, McGonagall moved in front of him.

"Please open your mouth again, Mr. Malfoy," she said, and there was a knowing look in her eyes. Her tone was almost sad. She pitied him, it was clear, and that made Granger's betrayal dig in even deeper.

Draco averted his eyes as he did as McGonagall instructed. She administered two drops of the antidote, and then the clouds inside of Draco's head grew misty and dissolved. The moment his mind was clear, he stood up and headed straight for the door.

He wasn't staying for a second longer.

* * *

"Draco! Draco, wait! Please!"

Draco sped up his pace, running his hands through his hair as the anxiety threatened to eclipse him. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the castle was getting smaller and smaller by the second. Granger's footsteps pounded against the stone as she dashed down the corridor after him, but he didn't want to talk to her. He couldn't. Not after that.

What Granger had experienced was worse, by far. However, he didn't understand why she had to be the one to suggest something that was similar. If she believed him, why wouldn't she have advocated for him? Her suggestion was so fast, like she had her own reservations as to the situation.

Not that he deserved her trust.

The juxtaposition of his anger and shame crashed against him from either side and his vision blurred. He rounded the corner, stumbling against the wall with one hand against the stone. He'd never felt this out of control, never felt this hurt, and he clutched his hand over his heart as he gasped for air.

"Draco?"

Her voice was small, yet strong enough to shatter the glass case of panic that had surrounded his lungs. He whirled around to face her, looking down into her flushed face and felt the emotions bursting outward away from him.

"How could you fucking do that to me, Granger?" he snarled, his fingernails digging into the stone as much as they were able. His other hand tangled in his hair. "That was . . . _Humiliating,_ it . . . _Fuck_!"

"Excuse me?" Granger, to his surprise, sounded angry. "How could I hold you to a standard that you've earned, you mean? You gave me absolutely _no_ reason to trust you before the war, and the tentative trust I've built in you since is always going to be subject to doubt. As grateful as I am to you for yesterday, that doesn't mean you were above what happened. It's _your_ fault that Harry and Ron don't trust you. I suggested Veritaserum because I knew it was the only way they'd believe you."

"And yet you didn't think about the fact that they'd use it against me?" he said, glaring down at her.

"Of course I thought about that!" she cried, her voice echoing in the empty corridor. There was one stained glass window every few yards, and the morning light cast a grey-tinted pallor over the corridor. Somehow, it made everything feel more dire.

"And you didn't care?" he shouted, incredulous.

"I cared," she said, frowning. "I just thought it was more important to clear your name at any cost, so that the right people could be arrested. I'm sorry, Draco, but these are the consequences of your actions during the war. These are the consequences of how you acted before it."

"Fucking Gryffindors," he hissed, giving her a sneering once-over. "Always sacrificing other people for the _greater good_. I apologized to you."

Granger blinked and then her jaw dropped with a shocked laugh. "Apologized? _When_? In court?" She shook her head. "No. that was a cop out."

"A what?" His anger levels were rising higher again.

"It's a Muggle expression that means you took the easier path. You _mouthed_ an apology to me through the bars of your cage in the courtroom, and it could have been for _anything_. That was _not_ an apology for everything you've put me through since First Year, and you know it."

Shame filled him again, but it was weaker than his anger. "How should I give you your apology, then? On my knees, prostrated before you like a serf to a lady?"

She took a step toward him and shouted, "On your knees, on your feet, wherever! I don't care!"

Draco's temper snapped. "How many times am I supposed to apologize, Your fucking _Majesty?"_

"Until you mean it!"

Pride wounded, Draco scoffed. He knew she deserved better than what he was about to do, but he was so hurt and livid that he could barely see straight. It felt like his vision was shrouded in red.

"Right, then." He sunk to his knees on the stone. Then, he held his hands out and inclined his head. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I'm sorry for everything I did to you. I'm sorry I'm such a piece of shit. I'm sorry that I -"

"Stop it." Her voice was quiet, and her eyes were white-hot with fury. "You're not going to manipulate me like that. You don't get to apologize for your being an arsehole, just because you feel embarrassed by what you said in McGonagall's office."

Draco rose to his feet. "Have you ever taken Veritaserum, Granger? Do you know how it feels to lose control of your body like that?" He jabbed the side of his head with his finger. "It's like having the Dark Lord inside your head, controlling your -"

"Body? It's like losing control of your body, yes." She crossed her arms and fixed him with a glare that could melt an Arctic floe. "I know exactly how that feels."

Her words barreled into him like a speeding train and he stumbled backward a step. They gazed into each other's eyes, the anger burning hot in hers and cooling to ice in his. He hated himself for this, and for more than just this. He hated himself for everything. He deserved to be dead after the Thestral shite he'd just pulled, for the fake apology and the yelling and the wounding of his undeserved pride.

All of his defenses dropped and this time, when he sank to his knees, it was honest. He rested his hands in his lap and hung his head. He fixed his gaze on her shoes. She stood pigeon-toed again, a telltale sign that he'd learned yesterday meant that she was nervous. He let the emotions and the truth flow from within him as though he were on Veritaserum again.

"I'm sorry, Granger, for everything. For the way I treated you when we were kids. For everything I said to you to hurt you. I'm sorry for my part in the war, for choosing the wrong side. I'm sorry for my role in Dumbledore's death, and for standing by and watching my aunt torture you. I'm sorry for letting fear and old hatred control me, and for allowing it to hurt you. But most of all, I'm fucking sorry that I let anyone else hurt you. I would make an Unbreakable Vow right this second if it meant I could prove to you that I'm never gonna let anyone hurt you ever again."

Silence stretched thick and murky between them. Draco wanted to die of many things, but not of the relief that came from being honest. It felt like a curtain had been drawn open. Now that she knew who he was and knew how he felt, the Snitch was on her side of the Pitch.

"If you're going to apologize," she whispered, and she did not sound happy, "then the least you could do is look at me."

He lifted his head, but she was already turning. His heart shattered in his chest as she walked away.

He couldn't let her.

He scrambled to his feet.

"Granger, _wait_!"

She did.

"What is it that you want from me, then?" he cried. "You don't want an apology. No matter how many times I say it, no matter how many ways. So, what the fuck do you _want_?"

"Ask yourself that question, Draco. I owe you nothing. What do _you_ want?"

Draco closed his eyes. He couldn't fight this. Not anymore.

"You."

She whirled on him, face painted with anger. "If you want me, then give me _you_. The _real_ you. The you that I had yesterday. Not the snarky prat from before the war. I don't want the old Malfoy. I want _Draco_."

And then she was gone, twirling around and running down the hall.

Away from him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Song of the Chapter: Ode to Summer - Syd Arthur,_ _Honeymoon Fades - Sabrina Carpenter,_ _Es Car - YUI,_ and _Rosyln - St. Vincent & Bon Iver_

x

_ March _

The end of February bled into the beginning of March, and Draco did not speak to Granger.

Their argument, while eye-opening, had been the final straw for Draco. He felt betrayed, humiliated, and confused. He supposed he could understand why she suggested the Veritaserum, but he didn't understand why she went to all those lengths to get him to apologize when she wasn't going to accept it anyway.

He did feel contrite, that wasn't to be argued. He felt so much guilt that it licked at the pages of the book of his life like flames, eating away at him on a daily basis. He just didn't understand if she was truly upset by the nature and state of his apology, or if she had no intention of forgiving him in the first place.

Was it a power thing? Did she just want to be able to say she had control over him? If that were the case, then she didn't need to do it this way. He'd give her every part of himself just to have her forgive him. Even if she didn't forgive him, he'd still give her his heart. Why did she need him to grovel just to prove it?

It was a pride thing for him. He didn't have much of it left after the war and his subsequent stint in Azkaban, but there was a small amount of it lingering within him. It clung to the edges of his psyche, refusing to let go for any reason. He'd gotten down on his knees for her twice, but he wouldn't do it again.

Well.

He might do it again. He would.

For her, he'd do anything.

On the morning of the first Friday in March, Draco woke to a tapping sound on his window. At first, he thought it was part of his rather barmy dream about playing Quidditch in a giant vat of porridge, but when the tapping continued on and on, he realized that it was real.

It was an owl. A familiar one. Black, long, and elegant with silver eyes and pearl-shaped white flecks on its wings.

"Eomer," he said under his breath as he pushed the window outward. A gust of brisk air greeted Draco's sleep-flushed cheeks. "What's this, then?"

Eomer blinked and stuck his leg out. A small scroll was tied to his ankle. Draco took it from him gently, and the owl flew further into the room. Draco turned and followed the great bird to his desk, unrolling the parchment as he went.

_My Dragon,_

_It has been too long. Please, write to me._

_Your father is doing well, though I suppose it's of no consequence to you. He suggested that I give you space this year, to find your own footing in the new wizarding Britain. I now realize that listening to Lucius has never worked out for either of us, so I told him to put a metaphorical sock in it, if you will._

_How are your studies? Are you getting on well with your peers? I do so hope that everything is going as smoothly and uneventfully as possible. Please don't hesitate to go to your Headmistress if any issues arise. Minerva and I take tea every Saturday afternoon, and she has -_

Draco lowered the scroll, his heart pounding. He watched as Eomer dipped his beak into the treat jar Draco always left open just for him, but he didn't focus on it.

If McGonagall had been meeting with his mother, and it had been three weeks since Valentine's and the arrests, then did his mother _know_ about the incident with Granger and the Cupere? He almost didn't want to finish reading it. His mother would never say that sort of information outright in a letter, but Draco had a feeling she'd woven a little something between the lines of her missive.

_\- stated that things are likely a little stressful for you this year with your N.E.W.T.s and with your friends. That worries me because I only want the best for you. Your father and I both only want the absolute best for you, do you understand?_

Fuck. Bloody Hell. _"The absolute best."_ Knowing his parents' Pureblood ideals, which were steeped in prejudice and purism, those words were akin to a flat-out refusal to acknowledge his feelings for Granger. McGonagall was no fool. She could tell Draco fancied Granger, if his revelations under the influence of Veritaserum were of any indication. She had to have discussed it with Narcissa at some length between February 15th and now.

_Please do send a response to this letter, when you have the time. I have no charitable obligations this weekend, and will be waiting for your response. Eomer will stay in the owlery until then._

_All my love,_

_Your mother_

Draco sighed heavily and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. He knew his mother better than anyone, even better than Lucius did. He knew what this letter meant.

" _The absolute best." "Waiting for your response." "I have no charitable obligations this weekend."_

Narcissa knew about Granger.

He was fucked.

* * *

" _Ohayou gozaimasu_ ," Draco said, lifting a hand to Ichiro as he slid into the table across from him.

"Malfoy- _senpai, ohayou_ ," Ichiro replied, his eyebrows shooting up. "Pronunciation's great. You've been practicing, yeah?"

"I have," Draco said, narrowing his eyes at him as he began loading his plate up with eggs and ham. "But don't make a big to-do about it."

Ichiro rolled his eyes. "Right ponce, aren't you? Can't you just accept praise where it's due?"

"Absolutely not," Draco said with a scoff. He began to eat, listening to the chatter of the Slytherins around him.

It was odd, sitting at the table and feeling like he belonged. It wasn't like before the war, where he sat there and felt like he owned the entire thing. And it wasn't like after, where he felt like he was being ignored because he was a pariah. Now, because of Ichiro and because of the little show Draco put on punching Cherdley - someone most Slytherins apparently had poor relations with, since he was a prat - no one paid him any negative mind. Sometimes, he even got greeted by other Seventh Year students he shared classes with.

Aside from the fact that he wasn't exactly welcomed by the other Houses, Draco felt like a Slytherin again.

Sometimes, he cast surreptitious glances across the Hall at the Gryffindor table, but Granger nearly always sat with her back to him. She ate much slower than him, usually because she was chatting up her friends like she always had. She almost never looked over her shoulder. For all intents and purposes, Granger had decided to put the situation with the Cupere behind her. Draco was forced to pretend like it didn't hurt.

There was only one time where she hadn't ignored him, and that was one week after their row in the corridor.

He'd snuck a glance in her direction only to find out that she was already looking at him. The expression on her face was another one of her unreadable ones, one that Draco felt would need a Gringotts curse-breaker to crack. He hadn't known what to do. So, he just stared. She stared back. Together, the both of them stared until Neville Longbottom plopped his arse down across from her and broke their line of sight.

That was the last encounter they'd had, if one could call it that.

" _Ne,_ been studying for your N.E.W.T.s?" Ichiro asked as he took a rather large bite of toast, shattering the confines of Draco's reverie.

Draco looked up from his eggs and shrugged. "Not really."

"That's bold. Are you sure you want to risk failing?"

Draco slowed his chewing, thinking to himself. He knew no one would hire him with the Death Eater past hanging over his head, let alone with the tattoo being permanently branded into his skin. N.E.W.T.s were necessary to get a job after Hogwarts. What was the point of earning any if he wasn't going to be hired by anyone with half of a brain?

But with that line of thinking, what was the point of even being at school for his Eighth Year? Why had he returned if he thought he wasn't going to have a future after school?

Was he really so morbid as to go to school for an entire year just to see Granger for as long as possible before he probably never saw her again?

He glanced past Ichiro's messy-haired head, his gaze falling on the back of Granger's. She looked so pretty today, as she always did, wearing a flared white miniskirt, oversize pastel blue jumper, and white trainers. Her curls were pulled up into a messy sort of tail at the top of her head, as though she'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed with only five minutes to get to class. She wore no pantyhose, which was surprising for Draco since he'd grown up seeing Pureblood witches revealing no more than their wrists, ankles, and necks. Of course, he'd had plenty of relations with witches, namely Pansy Parkinson, but this wasn't Pansy. This was Granger. It felt forbidden.

He wasn't complaining, though, as Granger had the best set of legs he'd ever seen.

"Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes snapped back to Ichiro's. "Hm?"

"Are you sure you want to -"

"Oh," Draco said. "I'm not going to fail, mate. Don't worry."

Ichiro nodded, but he didn't look convinced. Draco didn't know how to tell him that he'd failed already.

The moment he took the Mark.

* * *

Draco sat at the back of the classroom during Charms, like he usually did. Granger sat at the front, the way she had taken to doing since Valentine's.

The armistice wore on.

It was bizarre, realizing that she had been sitting beside him in class by choice for the entire year. He hadn't even registered it. They'd partnered up almost every class period, and he'd been so absorbed with trying to appear stoic and hide the fact that he fancied her that he hadn't realized they were interacting on a near-daily basis in a neutral manner. And they had a routine, now that he thought back on it. She did the wandwork and he wrote down the notes, all while they snarked back and forth at one another like they had on Valentine's Day.

Now that he was partnering up with a Seventh Year who was too terrified of him to do much more than nod enthusiastically at all of his suggestions, Draco found he missed the snark.

He wished he knew how to fix the damage he'd wrought.

Sometime later, after a lunch spent sulking into his stew, he stalked off to the Library. He'd sent his mother a letter in reply, skipping pleasantries and asking her to meet him for supper in Hogsmeade that day. She'd replied within five short minutes, agreeing to meet him at the Three Broomsticks, even though she despised the place. Due to what felt like an impending execution, he fully intended to stare at a book. He was going to pretend that he was studying for his free period, and nothing short of Granger would stop him.

The moment he entered the Library, he realized that the universe had called his bluff.

Granger was walking right across the entrance. She went from the left side of the room over to the right, her nose in a book and her lips moving as she read aloud under her breath. Her ponytail bounced behind her as she went, the fabric of her a-line skirt swaying with the cant of her hips as she meandered by. A quick scan of the surroundings showed Draco that the Eighth Years had decided to forgo the Library today for their free period, as the normally lively room was eerie in the way its silence made way only for the whispering Granger. Even Madam Pince was not at the front desk.

Draco froze in the entryway for a full thirty seconds, his eyes glued to Granger's back. This was the first time they'd been alone in the same vicinity together in weeks. It didn't necessarily mean he had to speak to her, but for some reason, he felt an insane amount of pressure coming from his left side. It wanted him to go to the right, to force himself into an encounter with her.

Her words floated back into his mind. " _If you're going to apologize, then the least you could do is look at me."_

And she was right. She was so fucking right.

He knew every single thing he'd done wrong during their row. He'd shouted at her. He'd acted as though he had a right to her trust. He'd mocked her honor and treated her like she wasn't worth a real apology. He'd given her another, more honest apology simply because he was terrified she was never going to speak to him again. He'd used self-deprecation that showed her that in his mind, it was Draco's world, and she was just living in it.

But she was Hermione Granger.

He'd shouted, but she hadn't wilted like a delicate winter flower. He'd acted as though she were beholden to him, and yet she'd never once faltered. He'd devalued her with his shoddy first apology, which was based out of pettiness, and she'd held strong. He'd attempted to manipulate her into accepting his second one by telling her that he was apologizing for being himself, rather than apologizing for what he'd done to hurt her, but instead of bending to his will, she remained an iron fortress.

Granger had treated the situation in a way that said that even if it was Draco's world, she was the oxygen. She was the oxygen, the sun, and the water, and nothing would live on his soil without her.

Draco's feet carried him over without him registering that it was happening. By the time he realized what his body was doing, he was standing right behind her. She was still talking to herself, reading aloud from the book in her hands.

". . . Robards thinks that the best way to handle the rising disparity between lycanthropes and access to Wolfsbane potions is to -"

Granger turned around and stopped speaking mid-sentence. Her face took on a shocked expression, her honey-colored eyes staring up at him. Then, as fast as it had come, the astonishment faded from her eyes like the last rays of the sun in the evening, and steel hardened her disposition.

"I have nothing to say to you, Malfoy," she said, and the word sliced into his heart like a knife through butter.

 _Malfoy_.

He really had fucked up.

"Fine, Granger," he said. "Then, just listen."

Her eyes flashed and she snapped the book shut. Panic lanced through Draco's body. She was going to leave, and this was going to be it. This was his last chance to make things right.

" _Please_?" he said loudly, his voice a tad too whiny for his tastes. Flushing with embarrassment as she glared past his shoulder, he murmured, "Please?"

"You have exactly thirty seconds."

Draco barely managed to keep himself from flinching. Her tone was like an icy, barbed wire whip. He took a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sorry, all right?" He held her gaze, even though it felt like looking right into the sun. "I'm sorry for everything that I did, and for everything that happened between us. For all of it. You should have felt safe enough to come to school without having to deal with me, and I should have given you and Potter a chance from the start. I chose the wrong side in the war, that much is clear, but the fact that you were collateral damage in my war with myself was wrong. So . . . I'm sorry. I truly do apologize, Granger, and I hope that with time, you can forgive me."

She stared at him, face unwavering. His heart raced.

The tense silence crumpled in on itself as she scoffed.

"You . . . Are so selfish, Draco Malfoy," she said, and her brow furrowed so deeply that Draco knew there might not ever have been any coming back from their row. "You're sorry that I had to _deal with you_? Sorry that you didn't deign to give me and Harry a chance? As if the chance was yours to give."

She shoved past him. Her footsteps were hard and heavy on the carpet. He felt each one stomping his heart deeper into the ground.

He couldn't let her go again.

"Granger, _wait_ -" He reached for her, and his fingertips brushed the sleeve of her blue jumper.

She whipped around, and she was Persephone with flames for hair.

"I am _no_ man's collateral damage," she hissed through her teeth, her eyes blazing like the fire of a comet's tail. "And I won't have you forgetting who I am."

Draco felt his heart splintering as shame filled the cracks. His own brow furrowed, but it was with desperation. "Then tell me. Tell me who you are."

She blinked, momentarily taken aback, and then he saw her draw her shoulders back. She hugged her book close to her chest and Persephone was gone. She was herself again. The person he'd fallen for. The girl he - no.

The woman he'd fallen for.

"I'm the witch the world underestimated," she said. "I'm unashamedly, fearlessly, and unapologetically _me._ And the last thing I'm going to do is have my accomplishments and my personality reduced to nothing. The last wizard who underestimated me had all seven pieces of his soul destroyed."

She took a step closer to him, until she was inches away, and then she jabbed his chest with her finger.

"I'm _nobody's_ collateral damage, Malfoy, and you'd do well to remember that."

Flames bloomed outward along the flesh of his chest, unfurling from where her fingertip touched him. He could feel it, even through the thickness of his shirt. He thought he might incinerate inside the suit of his own skin.

Once again, she was right.

The only collateral damage was himself. He would allow her to wreck him over and over if it meant that she was paying attention to him.

His hand snapped up and tangled in the curls of her ponytail, dragging her head backward. He covered her lips with his own, snogging down into her mouth the same way she had the night of Valentine's. His other hand cupped the side of her face, holding her firmly in place as he slipped his tongue between her gasping lips and offered himself up as kindling for her fire. His mouth burned when she kissed him back, her own tongue caressing his as though it wanted to soothe rather than stoke.

Granger dropped the book. It thudded against the carpet with a rustle of its pages, falling open beside them.

And then they were on fire.

Draco shoved her backward until her back hit the end of the nearest stack, swallowing the cry of astonishment that she uttered with his greed. His head tilted to the side and he devoured her, his hands traveling all over her body: from her neck to her arms to her waist and finally to the swell of her rear. His hips ground against hers. He nipped the pillowy center of her lower lip, groaning when he felt her fingers twisting the hair at the nape of his neck. She pushed herself up on the tips of her toes, pressing her mouth more firmly to his, and moaned.

He tore his mouth away from hers and pressed kisses that scorched down the side of her throat. She let out a soft cry, one of wild abandon that told him that she was as caught up as he was. Her head lolled to the side. Her back arched up, and her breasts pressed against his chest. His hands moved: one to her hip, the other between her thighs under her skirt. Her core was as hot as the center of the Earth, and he was fully prepared to melt into nothingness inside of her.

He was going to fuck her in the Library. He was going to fuck Hermione Granger in the Hogwarts Library.

"Draco," she gasped, her voice a breathy whine. Her hips rolled against the press of his fingers to her knickers, back and forth, like the pull of the ocean's tide.

"I want you," he exhaled, tongue curving around the shell of her ear. His mind was careening through space, in an entirely different dimension. "I wanna see if you can still be good for me."

She whimpered. He wished her knickers weren't in the way. His knee pressed up, nudging her legs apart. She bucked her hips. His fingertips grazed her skin, and her body went rigid.

Lightning fast, her hands went to the lapels of his collar.

"Draco, please . . . Please, wait, wait. _Stop_!"

Her sudden shriek echoed, and he found himself staggering apart from her. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head out. She clasped her hands to her cheeks, her eyes frenzied with something out of control. Her ponytail was a disaster, random curls jutting out in every direction. There was a dark mark at the base of her neck, where he'd suckled at her pulse long enough to create it.

"What?" Draco breathed, bewildered.

"I can't do this," she said, her voice on the tender edge of a sob. "With you. I can't do this with you."

She backed away.

"One day," she whispered, her eyes shimmering. "It was only supposed to be one day."

For the second time, she fled from him, taking her light and life with her.

Draco's world was dark once again.

* * *

Draco looked down into his mother's steely-grey eyes, and he forced a thin smile.

Narcissa Malfoy looked out of place in the Three Broomsticks, like an emerald in a sea of grey stone. She struck an imposing figure, wearing expensive green dress robes and a black cloak trimmed with white fur. Her platinum blonde hair was worn loose about her shoulders, in perfect curls that seemed determined to remain in place even as a gust of cold wind blew into the restaurant from the entrance behind her.

"Mother," he greeted.

"Draco, my dragon," she greeted, her tone the song of Pureblood rigidity. She leaned up and pressed a swift kiss to each of his cheeks. Her lips were surprisingly warm. "Did you procure us a place to sit?"

"Yes," Draco said, raising a hand to signal Madam Rosmerta.

Madam Rosmerta pursed her lips when she saw him, as she always did. She probably never would forgive Draco for what he'd done to her in Sixth Year, and he wasn't expecting her to. Getting a table had not been as easy as he'd thought it would be, but he was so used to being glared at that he endured for his mother's sake.

The busty witch strutted over, crossing her arms over her chest as her sharp gaze darted back and forth between Draco and Narcissa.

"I don't want any trouble in here, d'you understand?" she said. "I don't want any Unforgivables being cast in my establishment _again_."

Draco lowered his eyes. His mother tutted and began pulling her satin gloves off by the fingertips. She waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, Rosmerta, don't be so barbaric," Narcissa said. "I've as much a right to eat here as any other witch or wizard in Scotland. Malfoy galleons spend the same here, do they not?"

Madam Rosmerta's lips fell into a thin, flat line. However deep her anger ran, even Draco knew she would be daft to turn down any sort of money. Students didn't go down to Hogsmeade as much anymore post-war. The Dark Lord was gone, but the old fear had yet to fade.

"You can take the table in the far back corner. Away from prying eyes," Madam Rosmerta said. "I'll send two plates of chicken out to you in fifteen minutes."

"And what if we don't want chicken?" Narcissa said. She didn't scoff, as she had always said it wasn't ladylike, but she may as well have with the way her scrutinizing gaze scoured the length of Rosmerta's body.

Madam Rosmerta tapped her chin. "Hm. I seem to recall thinking something similar when your _son_ Imperiused me against my will. I thought to myself, _you know. What if I don't want to be cursed?"_ Her eyes hardened. "I was cursed anyway. You're getting chicken. Have a seat."

She turned on her heel and stormed away, towards the kitchen.

Narcissa stared after her for a long moment. Draco heaved a sigh and touched a hand to his mother's elbow.

"Come, mother. There's no reason to bring the Aurors down on the family again," he said, trying to steer her towards the table Rosmerta had mentioned. The restaurant was mostly empty, save for two tables - one with an elderly couple who looked completely blind, and the other with three wizards wearing Muggle sailor's clothing.

Narcissa glared up at him. "Don't be cheeky, Draco."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes like he would have when he was a Second Year.

They made their way to the table. He pulled his mother's chair out for her and then he sat down across from her. He clenched his back teeth together, trying to manage his anxiety. His mother spread the skirts of her robes out, casting one final sour look around the area. She laced her fingers on the table in front of her. Two cups of water materialized from thin air, and his mother took a slow sip.

"How are your studies?"

Draco gave a flippant shrug. "Well enough, I suppose. I have passable marks in my classes." Then, he pulled a wry grin. "I've even made a friend."

"Oh?"

"Sakamura Ichiro," he said. "Pureblood. He's a Seventh Year."

Narcissa gave an approving nod. "Yes, I know the Sakamura family. I believe his mother, Mariko, is on the Eastern Asian Connections committee at the Ministry. I helped host a gala fundraiser for them this Christmas."

Draco nodded. Of course she did.

"Speaking of galas, for Easter, I will be hosting a gala for the Malfoy War Restoration Trust for Easter," she said. "At the Manor. I would like for you to attend."

Draco nodded again. "I will."

"You may bring a guest."

Something hung in the air.

Their eyes met, grey to grey, and Draco knew he was in for it.

"When were you going to inform your father and I that you were seeing Hermione Granger?"

Draco sucked in his breath and averted his eyes. "I'm not _seeing_ her. I have no witch, mother."

His mother studied him. "You assisted her with a highly potent lust potion, Draco. Yet I seem to recall there was nothing but hatred between the two of you. Why would you do something so risky and selfless for someone you aren't seeing?"

Fuck, his mother was so forward.

"Reparations," he muttered, and then he gulped down half of his water. He glared at the table.

"Reparations," she repeated, her voice flat as a plain.

Draco felt his anger lash through him. He sneered. "With all due respect, mother, you haven't written to me since All Hallow's. I am eighteen and more than of age. What I do and with whom isn't your business. If you wanted to be involved in my choices, you ought to have taken a break from your functions and your auctions and your tea ceremonies."

Without missing a beat, she said, "Do you fancy her, son?"

"That falls under the category of my business, doesn't it, then?"

The plates of chicken appeared in the hands of the only employee Rosmerta had, a redheaded witch named Siobhan who'd graduated Hogwarts the year before the war. She set them down, her gaze lingering on Draco as though he were a ghost.

He and Narcissa both leveled blank stares in her direction.

"Sorry," she mumbled, putting her hands behind her back. "It's just . . . I wanted to say that I really admire your fortitude and your . . . Your bravery. Coming back this year had to be - well, it must have been difficult. You should know that if you need _anything_ , I'm happy to assist."

Draco felt heat rising to his cheeks when he realized the witch was making a rather blatant pass at him. The last time a witch had made a pass at him, it was Sixth Year, and he was extremely angry and depressed back then. It was so surreal, especially knowing that ninety minutes or so ago, he was snogging Granger in the Library. He looked down at his plate, not knowing where else to train his gaze.

"Forks would be grand, Siobhan, thank you," Narcissa said, her tone more pleasant than it had been before.

"Yes, of course." Siobhan waved her hand and two forks popped into existence beside their plates. "Anything else, Draco? Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Yes, _Draco_ , anything else?" Narcissa said.

Draco glowered at his mother. "No, thank you. That will be all."

Siobhan ducked down in a mock example of a curtsy, and then darted off to help the elderly couple.

Narcissa and Draco ate in silence for a moment.

Draco's mind whispered a stream of curses in the panicked territory of his brain. This was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He and his parents had never been close, and it had always felt like they loved each other fiercely from behind the walls of three separate glass cages. His mother meant well, but Draco wasn't exactly interested in listening to her spout the purist ilk he'd grown up hearing his parents discuss at mealtimes.

"Do you love her?"

Draco bit back a growl and slammed his fork down. "Why do you _care_ , mother?"

"Do not slam your fork," she scolded. "And because I'm your mother. Contrary to what you believe, I do care who you fancy and who you love."

Draco speared a chunk of steamed vegetables with his fork and shoved it all into his mouth the ill-mannered way he knew his mother hated.

"It's not your business."

"I'm _making_ it my business." Narcissa gently set her fork down and reached across the table for Draco's hand. He flinched away from her, but at the look of hurt in her eyes, he faltered. She placed her hand over his. "I am making your life my business, son. I know that I haven't been the most attentive, and that it has assuredly hurt you, but . . ."

Draco felt his heart ache in his chest when his mother's face fell. In spite of everything they'd been through, the root of everything was his family. The whole reason why he'd chosen the wrong side of the war was because he wanted to protect them. As much as he wanted to hold onto his anger at his mother for putting her charities first, his heart was already eclipsed by his self-hatred.

No matter how angry he was, or how distant she became, Draco would always need his mother.

She started to draw her hand back, but he couldn't allow it. He was quick to wrap her fingers with his own and squeeze.

Hope filled her eyes and she offered him a small smile.

"Things have been difficult," he said. "With father being . . . Where he is. I understand."

Narcissa's eyes watered and she looked at Draco as though he shone. "No, there is no excuse for what I have done. I was using my philanthropy to cope, and that was wrong. I should have poured my attention into you, my dragon."

Draco tightened his hold on her hand a second time and his brows knit together. "I don't think any less of you for it, mother. We've all had to find ways to cope after the war."

He stared down at his plate.

"And have you?"

"Have I what?" he asked.

"Found a way to cope? Is this . . . Is she how you cope?"

Draco felt his stomach twist in an unpleasant way and he withdrew his hand from around his mother's. "No, mother."

She opened her mouth to say something else, then seemed to think better of it. They resumed their consumption of their suppers. Draco kept with his gaze on his food, feeling his mother's eyes boring holes into him. It gave him even more anxiety, having her stare at him like that, but he was too overwhelmed by his emotions to do anything about it. He focused on the chicken, on the taste of the meat and texture of the skin.

Draco didn't have a way of coping, unless he counted spending hours thinking about how much he hated himself. In fact, the only way to keep himself from wallowing in his past transgressions was to do his schoolwork or read. So, he supposed he did have a reason to be at Hogwarts for his Eighth Year. Because even if no one wanted to hire him and he had no future career, he needed a way to cope for even just one year. Granger wasn't his way to cope; he already had one.

She was his punishment. Being forced to watch her smile and laugh, knowing that he would never be the cause? His just desserts for everything he'd ever done wrong.

He gave a heavy exhale and set his fork down once more. He sat back in his seat and arched one eyebrow in Narcissa's direction.

"You have my permission," he drawled.

Narcissa wasted no time. " _Legilimens_."

Inside his mind she went, making a beeline for his memories. Draco barred her from going to far, however, choosing instead to push forth the memory of Valentine's Day with all of the sexual experiences redacted. He showed her as much as he felt was necessary. The conversation that he'd overhead in the Slytherin common room; the part of the conversation he'd had in the Library with Granger that involved him agreeing to help her; the incident with Cherdley; the even worse incident with Richter where Draco had nearly killed the boy; the entire meeting in McGonagall's office; and the argument with Granger in the corridor right after. He left out everything else, and then promptly Occluded, yanking his walls up to silently warn her out of his head.

Draco blinked, and then he looked across the table at his mother.

"Draco, I'm going to tell you a story," she said, "and I want you to listen to me very carefully."

Draco nodded.

"When you were eight years old, you were an absolute _prat_."

Draco scowled, but she gave him a stern look and he shut his mouth.

She went on, "You were an absolute prat. Your father and I tried to set you up on play encounters with the children of other Pureblood families, but every time we did, it ended in a horrid situation. One time, at the Manor, you pushed little Blaise Zabini so hard that he twisted his ankle. Oh, and I was so angry with you. Your father wanted you to apologize, but I thought it was important that we wait. Lucius didn't understand why, but I told him to trust me. An apology in the heat of the moment is like using paper thread to stitch a stab wound.

"So, we waited a few days, and then you came to us and asked us if you could send Blaise a letter. We asked you why, and you said you wanted to tell him you were sorry. We asked you why again, and you said because you hurt him. That was when Lucius looked at me," Narcissa breathed a laugh, shaking her head, "and he said, ' _Narcissa. You are the light of my life, but I'll be damned if he grows up to think I'm the less intelligent parent.'_ And then he helped you write the letter."

Draco couldn't help it. He laughed. A grin cracked his face open and he ducked his head to hide it as he chuckled. He'd forgotten how much less of a statue his father was before he first went to Hogwarts. When he thought back to his childhood, things were so faint, locked away by trauma and darkness and time, that a memory he should have held himself had to be recounted to him by his mother.

His mirth faded, becoming replaced by familiar, pressing sadness.

"What I'm trying to say, my dragon," Narcissa continued, "is that oftentimes, we try to use paper thread to sew our wounds together. It doesn't work, and our wounds keep ripping open over and over again. That's why you can't apologize for wrongdoing in the heat of the moment. You need to take a moment and then, when the waters are calm, you can heal the wound the proper way."

"With magic?" Draco asked, frowning.

"And where does magic come from?" Narcissa smiled and then placed a hand on her chest. "From our hearts."

Draco searched her eyes for a moment. "She didn't accept my apology because it's too soon."

"No," Narcissa said, shaking her head resolutely. "She did not accept your apology because it came from a place of selfishness. You apologized to her because _you_ want her to forgive you. But have you stopped to think that perhaps she already _has_?"

Draco's ears rang. He hadn't thought of that. It didn't make any sense. His frown deepened and he looked down at his hands, which were now in his lap. He fidgeted with his fingernails.

Why would Granger have any reason to forgive him? He hadn't apologized, so how could -

"Forgiveness is given, my dragon," Narcissa said in a soft voice. "It is not asked for."

_She didn't need my apology. She doesn't want it because she doesn't need it._

"She forgave me for herself, didn't she?"

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "If there is one thing I know about Hermione Granger - one thing that I gleaned from watching my sister destroy her - it is that she is a strong woman. She is not a girl anymore, and though she was a strong girl, it is not the same thing as being a strong woman. A strong woman doesn't accept your apology simply because you want her to. She makes you apologize over and over again until you mean it."

"But I _did_ mean it!" he blurted out, feeling defensive. Then, when the three sailor-type wizards glanced over at them in curiosity, he lowered his voice. "I did mean it, mother."

"Then the issue is not the conviction, but the verbiage." Narcissa picked her fork back up and took another bite of her poultry. "Why did you apologize?"

"Because I owed it to her."

"Son." Narcissa set her fork down and pinned him in place with a stern gaze. " _Why_ did you apologize?"

"Because I felt bad." Draco rested his hands on his thighs. The fingers of his right hand tapped his leg in agitation.

"Do you mean because she asked you to? Before that moment, did you ever approach her to apologize of your own volition? No? Then there is your answer. _That_ is why she didn't accept your apology. Whether she forgave you for herself or not, you still owe her the apology. Of your _own volition._ "

Draco bristled and leaned forward. "I don't know what she wants."

Narcissa's eyes flashed. "I will _tell_ you what she wants, son. She wants you to understand that you are apologizing for the wrong things. You are being selfish, and you are apologizing for your existence. She does not want an apology for your existence. She wants an apology for the pain you've caused."

It felt like he'd been hit in the gut with a stray hex.

It made all the sense in the world. Granger didn't accept his apology because he was apologizing for what he did, when he should have been apologizing for how he made her feel.

Narcissa said, "She wants an apology for breaking her heart when she never gave it to you in the first place."

Draco averted his eyes again, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He laced his fingers in front of his mouth and, for this moment and this moment only, let his guard down. He let his shoulders sag and the pain show in his eyes. The millenniums of hatred that he was holding for himself, locked within an eighteen-year-old prison of despair.

"Women don't want broken men, mum," he whispered, his voice cracking. He closed his eyes against the ache in his throat and the hollowness in his chest.

"Oh, Draco." Narcissa leaned forward, wrapping her hands around his as she looked into his eyes. There were tears in hers, and that was the only reason why his were dry. Only one of them could break down at a time. "Women do not want men who prefer to stay broken, or men who prefer to have their witches hold them together. They want men who can hold _themselves_ together. Women have to worry about holding themselves together all the time. They shouldn't have to do it for men, too."

Draco watched as she kissed his knuckles profusely. A tear slipped down her cheek.

"You are strong, too, Draco. Fearsome, protective, and cunning - just like a dragon must be to protect his treasure. She told you she wants the real you. I don't care about the past. I don't care about blood status. I just want you to be happy. With wings or not, you are still a dragon."

Draco closed his eyes again. He felt his mother press her forehead against his.

"Thank you, mother," was all he could manage to choke out.

"Your father forgave himself, Draco," she said. "Perhaps you should, too."

He wondered what that felt like.

* * *

Draco watched Granger all through the rest of dinner.

He finished supper with his mother with twenty minutes to spare, so he decided to linger at the Slytherin table and hang out with Ichiro for a bit. Ichiro was a little distracted with other conversation, so Draco took the opportunity to do what he did best: blend in.

Granger was sitting on the other side of the Gryffindor table this time, for the first time in over a fortnight. Strangely, no one around her seemed to notice her off-color mood. She hadn't looked up from her food, and she wasn't talking to anyone. No one sat on the other side of her, so from Draco's seat at the Slytherin table, he had a direct line of sight to her.

He wasn't sure what she was thinking or feeling, but he knew that their encounter had affected her. She looked rattled, like her mental foundations had been shaken clear of the surface of the planet and she was floating freely through space. He watched Francia prance behind her with a group of friends on their way out after dinner, say something to her multiple times, and Granger not even notice that she was speaking to her.

When she finally did acknowledge the Hufflepuff girl, she jolted as though coming out of a deep slumber. Her eyes met Draco's briefly, but she looked away so fast that it almost gave Draco whiplash.

At first, Draco felt his heart start to sink. But then he remembered his mother's words and new strength filled his body. He'd done a lot of thinking, in regards to what his mother had said. He knew she was right. Narcissa was always right, but this time, all the puzzle pieces lined up correctly. Granger hadn't accepted his apologies because A, they were Thestral shite; B, she'd already forgiven him for her own mental health; and C, he'd apologized for selfish reasons. Now that he knew, he was ready to fix what he'd destroyed, whatever it was that was between them.

Something nagged at the back of his mind, though.

What had Granger meant by, " _I_ _t was only supposed to be one day?"_

He straightened his back and continued to watch her. As students started getting up to file back to their dorms or traipse off to their night classes, Granger gathered two books from the bench beside her and hugged them to her chest. She looked almost like her First Year self as she began walking to the door, her head down, lost in thought. She'd taken her hair down from the pony and now her curls hung freely to the small of her back, bouncing behind her with more life than she seemed to possess.

Guilt pushed Draco to his feet and out of the Hall after her. It was his fault she was in this listless, disoriented state.

Draco knew what she wanted now. It was just a matter of giving it to her the correct way. What better way than the way she'd grown accustomed to over the years? She wanted Draco, but in order to get to him, she was going to have to go through the old Malfoy.

He followed her to the room with the moving staircases, and before she could enter it, he practically leaped ahead of her.

"Granger, Granger, Granger," Draco drawled, placing one hand on the other side of the entryway, barring her path. "You weren't thinking of walking to the Astronomy Tower alone, were you?"

She stared up at him like a wide-eyed deer. Her jaw dropped. Then, her brow furrowed and she frowned.

"What? Troll got your tongue?" His gaze dropped down to her mouth, his mind going back to that day in the Library.

"Kindly move out of my way, Malfoy," she said, her voice flat.

"What's in it for me?"

She looked confused, regarding him as though he were doing something out of the ordinary. "You're a prat."

"As if it's news." He ran his fingers through his hair and smirked.

Her eyes tracked the movement of his hand and then she sighed. "You want to walk to Astronomy class together? Fine. Be my guest. It's a free castle."

It was Draco's turn to be confused. "Do you mean the castle is free for purchase? Because I doubt it's ever been for sale."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "It's . . . A Muggle expression. Sort-of. Just . . . Nevermind. Move your arm."

Draco did not, even as she stepped forward. She was petite enough that her nose barely brushed the inside of his forearm. In this position and with the emptiness of the hallways, no one would object if he were to curl his other arm around her back and pull her closer.

"You're gonna let me walk you to class, no complaints?" he asked, brow lifting.

"Yes," she said with dripping sarcasm and an out-of-character sneer.

"Good girl," he murmured, and it may or may not have been intentional.

She blinked twice and then averted her eyes.

_Knight to E-5, and check._

He gazed down at her, his throat feeling suddenly quite dry. He kept his arm at his side, and then dropped the one that was in her way. She immediately moved forward, heading for the staircases.

They traveled in virtual silence. It was a lot different from the steady flow of conversation they'd had on the night of Valentine's, when they were taking the staircases up to the Room of Requirement. That night, Draco felt like there had been a closeness between them that couldn't be replicated. Now, it felt like she was light-years away from him.

 _It's your fault, Draco,_ he thought with resolve. _Fix it._

"You think Sinistra will ever let us go to the top of the tower?" Draco asked when they stepped onto the landing.

She cast him a wary glance. Her response was delayed. "Probably not. Last I heard, the door was barred shut out of respect for Professor Dumbledore. That's why we use the windows in the classroom beneath it."

Her voice was so matter-of-fact. Worse even than before Valentine's. At least then, she'd used an amicable tone with him. This version of her sounded like she hated him again.

Maybe she'd never stopped hating him. One didn't have to like someone to tolerate them.

"Makes sense," he mumbled.

They walked down the corridor, their footsteps echoing quietly. They were on the late side, likely because Draco had chosen to snark and hold them both up. He held no regrets.

"Why would you want to go up there, anyway?" she asked, and it sounded begrudging.

"To snog you." Draco looked down at her, his smirk returning with blatant boldness.

He was only half-serious, but with the way she looked up at him, it was clear she thought he was going to pin her to the wall right there. She glared at him and held up a finger in warning.

"Keep your distance, Malfoy."

Now was not the time to let his self-hatred get the best of him. He had to be rational. She wanted him to keep his distance because she was cross with him - not because she found him repulsive. Her reactions in the Library were proof of that.

Draco would keep his distance. The old Malfoy would not.

As they neared the classroom, Draco crowded her, causing her to stumble on the tangle of their feet. She let out a sound of frustration, which turned into a squeak of surprise when he caught her by the elbow from behind with his right hand. With his left, he reached around in front of her to cover her hand on the door handle.

"And what if my distance is one millimeter?" he whispered into her ear.

He felt the shiver that went through her body run right through him, to the pit of his stomach.

"M-Malfoy," she said, stammering. She tried to pull her hand off of the door handle, but he tightened his grip.

"Tell me to back away," he murmured, his nose brushing against her hair by her ear.

She was silent for an entire five seconds. Five seconds during which Draco felt the first bell of triumph ringing out in his head.

"Stop teasing," she said, but this time, her sternness sounded false.

His hand moved from her elbow to her hip. He wanted to pull her flush against him, but he resisted. He felt his heart pounding, the danger of the possibility of another late student meandering down the corridor behind them screaming at him. But he wasn't about to back down. He was _this_ close to another check on the board.

He dropped his head down, pushing past her hair until his lips brushed her neck. At the same time, he pressed his fingers into the flesh covering her hip bone, through the fabric of her white skirt. Her gasp was sudden. Her head fell back against his shoulder.

He'd been in this exact situation with Pansy many times. They rowed, she swore to curse the ground he walked on for all eternity, and he gave her shite and annoyed her until it made her laugh. Then, things went back to normal.

The only difference was Hermione Granger was not a preening bird like Pansy Parkinson. She was a lioness, and a lioness might let one pet them for a few moments before she snapped. Then, one might just find himself missing an arm.

"I said stop teasing, Malfoy." Her tone chilled to Arctic temperatures. She turned her face so quickly that he had to jerk his head back to keep from accidentally kissing her. Her glare was sharp with danger. "Or I'll hex you."

She yanked on the door, and he stepped away.

The bell in his head stopped ringing.

Determination settled into his bones. He wasn't trying to bend her over a damn chaise; he just wanted to make her laugh so she'd be more amenable to talking to him. Then, he was going to give her his apology the right way, from a selfless place, with the proper sentiments.

Professor Sinistra was already at the front of the room, barking directions in his booming voice. Muggle telescopes - which had been implemented this year at Granger and Longbottom's behest - were lined up along the windows. Sinistra had vanished the glass from said windows so that the ends of the scopes could maneuver upwards high enough. The students were crowding the scopes, chattering with excitement. Outside, the night sky was pitch-black already and the stars were twinkling, merry and bright. It was a particularly clear Spring night, so clear that the stars looked layered and dense, like glitter spilled all over a dark canvas.

"You two are late," Sinistra said, giving them an amused look and then snapping his fingers. "You'll have to partner up together."

"What're we looking for, Professor?" Granger asked. She didn't notice that Draco was standing close enough to her for her hair to brush the front of his Oxford.

"It's a special night," Sinistra said. "You will be able to see Venus quite clearly and Uranus will be dim but visible. One of you, move the scope; the other, look through the lens. Work _together_. Take notes on which constellations are visible, and any other observations that seem important."

Once they'd managed to get the scope where they needed it to be, Granger waved him over.

"Come look. I think I can see it."

He did as she asked, pretending not to be aware of the fact that she hadn't exactly moved over very far. He looked into the lens, his eyes taking in the sight of countless spots of light until he found what they were looking for. Venus was there in Aries, bright as ever, and it actually looked quite stunning.

"Did you know that Venus's entire surface is hidden?"

"Hm," he said as he pulled parchment and quill out of his satchel. He perched on the windowsill, using his thigh as a table for his parchment to rest on.

"It's hidden by clouds made of sulfuric acid. It's also the hottest planet in our solar system. Were you aware of that?"

He looked up at her through his lashes, pausing in his note-taking. She was standing by the lens, her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth from heel to toe. When their eyes met, she looked on the verge of smirking. In suspicion, his brow furrowed.

"Yes," he said. "I'm just unsure why you're telling me."

"Professor Sinistra said last week that there would be questions on the exam about the planets," she said, and then she bit her lower lip, "and I don't think I've ever seen you study."

"Perhaps I study in my dorm," he said as he scrawled out notes about Venus' position, color, and visibility. "You don't know what I do with my time outside of class."

"That may be," she said, leaning down to pick up her bag. She withdrew her own quill and parchment. She turned around and used the desk behind her, leaning over it to write. "But I do know that you've never surpassed me in an exam our entire time here at Hogwarts."

Draco almost scoffed. She had to know how short her skirt was.

What was she playing at?

"How helpful," he said, voice snide.

She didn't respond at first, so he set his parchment aside and went to the telescope. His hip brushed the flouncy fabric of her skirt, but if she noticed, she didn't react.

He ducked down and peered through the lens again. He looked at the stars and Venus without really registering what he was seeing. Words like right ascension and declination bounced around his mind, but none of the times or numbers were jumping out. He felt too distracted.

Granger was standing right next to him now. "Venus is also estimated to be anywhere from 300 to 400 million years old."

"Fascinating," he drawled. He stared at Alpha Arietis through the lens, trying not to focus on the fact that Granger was standing so much closer to him than was necessary.

"I'm only trying to help," she said with a huff. "Merlin knows Astronomy is difficult."

"Not for me."

"Oh? Then tell me: which star are you looking at right now."

"Gamma Arietis," he lied.

"All right. What's the angular separation of its two components?"

Draco glared into the lens and lied again. "7.607 arcseconds."

"Wrong. 7.606."

"Granger." She couldn't honestly believe he was that dense.

"I'm only trying to help," she repeated. This time, he could hear a slight taunt in her tone.

What in Salazar's name was she on about?

 _She's playing the game, too_ , Draco thought, realization dawning on him. _What a cheeky brat._

He stood up suddenly and looked down at her. She took a quick step backward, obviously startled at his speed. His gaze dropped to her mouth again, and then he narrowed his eyes.

"I was fucking with you, Granger. I was looking at Alpha Arietis."

She gave him a shrewd look. "What was the purpose of lying, then? To make yourself look unintelligent?"

"The purpose was to fuck with you."

"Hm, well." She looked him over. "I still think you need to study. Second place is challenging to maintain. Although, I wouldn't know. First has been rather easy for me."

Draco ran his tongue along his upper teeth, nodding to himself as though agreeing with something. He breathed a laugh and shook his head. The swot was good. She was really good. He felt something inside of him pulling taut, similar to when he felt anxiety, but not abhorrent. It was more like the feeling he'd had before kissing her in the Library.

If only the classroom weren't full of people . . . His gaze flicked behind her, to the desk she'd left her parchment and feather quill on.

He would do an astronomical number of things to her on that desk.

"Look through the telescope, little girl," he said. "Worry about your own exams; not mine."

The partner group beside them glanced in their direction at his words, their eyebrows rising. The moment he looked back at them with a challenge in his eyes, they returned to their work with hushed whispers.

"Hmph," Granger said, and then she scraped her hair up to the top of her head. Draco watched as she pulled the rubber of a band from her wrist and used it to secure the curls in a messy bun. A few stray curls escaped to frame her face, but she paid them no heed. She unceremoniously bumped him aside and looked down into the telescope.

"What do you see, swot?" he asked, leaning down from behind her to speak into her ear.

She jolted. "Aries and Venus, of course. But I can see Perseus, too. Really, there's lots more we could see if we adjusted the angle of the scope."

"I don't want to adjust the angle of the scope," Draco said in a sing-song tone.

"Move away from me," Granger replied in the same trill.

"Don't want to do that, either." He glanced at the rest of the class, grateful that everyone was absorbed in either their telescopes or their notes.

He placed his fingers on the back of her neck, just light enough to graze her flesh. He was rewarded with a shiver of her shoulders. She rolled her head to look at him, and then she elbowed him sharply in the stomach. He made a small sound, but otherwise remained in place.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sounding cautious. "What is all this?"

He leaned further forward, one hand on the neck of the lens as he peered into it. He placed the other hand on her arm, effectively caging her in. He didn't care if anyone saw, and apparently, neither did she because she didn't try to wrench herself away from him.

"Just checking," he said. "I found Uranus."

"I already did that," she quipped. "Checking what?"

He smirked and shrugged.

"Malfoy." She turned to look at him. Her warm breath fanned his cheek. "Checking _what_?"

"If it was the potion or I that did it."

He saw her narrow her eyes at him once again. She studied him for a second, her arms crossed over her chest.

"You or the potion that did _what_?"

Draco turned his face and looked into her eyes. He watched her gaze flitting up and down. It was as though she were trying to memorize his face, like he was about to disappear.

"That turned you on."

"Oh, Malfoy, _honestly_!" She shoved him away, earning them both a few more looks and an inquisitive brow raise from Professor Sinistra.

His triumph felt permanent as he sauntered back over to the windowsill. When he perched there again, his hands resting on the stone on either side of his hips, he looked at her. She tried to hide her smile by looking into the telescope lens again, but it was futile. She was one of the most expressive witches he'd ever met.

"You're so annoying," she said before she turned to her notes. "I can't believe I never noticed before."

_Check and fucking mate._

"You noticed," he said as he followed suit. "You just didn't find it attractive until now."

"Who says I find it attractive?" She turned around to face him, smiling like a little girl with a new toy. Her entire face lit up like a spell, and he witnessed a mouth full of straight, pearly-white teeth. It threw him off-kilter for a moment.

"I say."

"Well, I _don't_ say," she shot back, and one of her brows lifted. "I find it juvenile and arrogant."

"Juvenile and arrogant?" He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Those are two words I haven't heard used against me."

"Well, get used to it," she said, and she flicked a curl out of her eyes. Then, she put one hand on the desk and the other on her hip. "There's a _lot_ of words in the dictionary, Malfoy, and an eternity to go through them all."

_And there it is. The gate is open._

The smirk that spread across Draco's face was slow, wicked, and sinful.

"Spend an eternity with me, Granger, and the only words you'll need are ' _please,' 'yes,'_ and _'I'll be good.'"_

Two seconds ticked by. Realization sparked in her eyes like the stars in the sky winking to life at night, and she blanched.

She spoke not a single word for the rest of the class period.

* * *

Draco waited outside the classroom for her.

She always stayed behind to help Professor Sinistra and some Ravenclaw Seventh Year put the telescopes away. He knew she wouldn't interrupt her routine even if she was overwhelmed by the things he'd said. With the Cupere, she'd been so adamant about sticking to her routine that she'd come to him for help, so he wasn't surprised that even with his taunts and their earlier Library incident, she was still going to help clean up.

The other girl left first, giving Draco a polite smile as she went. Draco gave her a curt nod in response, adjusting his bag strap on his shoulder. Sometimes, people were neutral towards him. Not everyone hated him after the war. It was refreshing to be reminded of that.

Granger exited the classroom and when she set eyes on him, she sighed.

"Walking me back to my dorm, I presume?"

He pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against, smirking. "No. I'm walking you back to mine."

She threw her gaze Heavenward, shook her head, and headed down the corridor.

"I will walk to the staircase room with you," she said, "and that is as far as I'm going. You will go down to the dungeons, and I will go up to the Seventh floor."

"The staircase room is so close, though, and the Seventh Floor is so far," he said, carding his fingers through his hair. "What if I miss you?"

She gave him a sharp look. "You certainly are shameless when you flirt, aren't you?"

"Who says I'm flirting?" he said as they neared the staircase room.

"I say," she replied, echoing his earlier statement during class.

"If I'm juvenile and arrogant, then you're bold and capricious."

"Bold, I agree with. But capricious?" She shook her head. "No."

They paused on the landing.

"Granger, if you weren't so capricious, we would have made up weeks ago."

She tilted her head to the side. "Made up? You mean . . . Like friends?"

_Or more._

"Yeah," he said, trying to play his panic off with a shrug. Then, before she could say anything more, he said, "But I'm pretty sure you hate me. You've always hated me."

_Wait. No. Why did I tell her that?_

She looked perplexed and a little bit astonished. "What?"

The train continued off its tracks. "You've hated me since First Year, Granger. I made it really easy to despise me, though." He hung his head for a moment, looking off to the side. "You must have loathed me after Sixth Year."

There was a suspended moment of quiet. A troubled expression crossed her oval-shaped face. She closed her mouth and said nothing else.

Draco regretted saying it. It was too much. Too vulnerable.

"I should go," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked off to the left, at some of the casually shifting staircases. "It's late."

"Good night, Malfoy," she said. She walked over to an upwards-moving staircase and did not look back.

Draco mentally kicked himself the entire way down to the dungeons, past the crackling fire in the crowded common room, and into his dorm room.

He toed off his shoes and began shucking his clothes. Now that he was in his room, he felt exhausted and defeated. His plan hadn't worked. How was he supposed to apologize to Granger in a serious manner if he couldn't get her alone to be able to be sincere? Sure, he could apologize to her anywhere, but then it wouldn't be special. It wouldn't mean anything. It wasn't the room or the space that made it mean something; it was the value of privacy.

He changed into a pair of black satin pyjama trousers, forgoing a shirt. He was just too tired. He would try again with Granger tomorrow. He pulled back the coverlet on his bed and lifted his hand, preparing to wandlessly shut out the lights.

 _Knock._ A pause. _Knock, knock._ And then one more quick, quieter _knock_.

He paused, frowning. The common room had been full to the brim with partying Sixth and Seventh Year Slytherins, and he had no desire to talk to any of them. It was a weekend, but he was just too knackered for shenanigans.

Sighing and shirtless, he dragged the door open with the arm that held his Dark Mark. He hoped that an angry Death Eater would be enough to terrify whoever it was into leaving him alone.

"What?" he snarled.

Granger stood there, still dressed in her clothing. The common room had gone quiet, most everyone watching in blatant, slack-jawed awe at the sight of the Golden Girl at the door of Voldemort's literal servant. She looked down, her hair falling forward due to having been taken down from the style at some point, and wrung her hands.

"Granger?" he asked, scanning the room behind her, the students, and the fireplace.

Hermione Granger was in the Slytherin common room.

"I didn't hate you, Draco," she said, voice trembling and words halting. She looked up at him, her brows meeting on her forehead and the corners of her lips turning downward. She shook her head. "I really didn't. I was sad for you."

Astounded into complete silence, Draco leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms over his bare chest. She'd called him Draco again.

What did it mean?

"And I never told you," she pressed on, her eyes searching his. "Thank you. For everything you did for me on Valentine's. For . . . Well, you protected me in more ways than one. And I'm grateful to you for that. I always have to be strong and for the first time, I didn't have to be. You kept me safe. Thank you."

 _Fuck_. Her eyes were filling with tears.

She looked down. One tear escaped her lower lashline.

This was it. This was his chance. He was going to take it.

He would protect her any time she needed it.

Glancing behind her at the prying eyes of the partying students, Draco felt his protectiveness rearing higher within him. Granger was not the weeping sort; he had a feeling nothing would feel more humiliating for her than to cry in front of a room full of Slytherins. The rumors of her going into his dorm room that would spread the following morning would pale in comparison.

"Come here," he murmured, cupping the back of her head and dragging her against him. He pulled her back into the room, glowering at anyone he could see before he shut the door.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, her face buried in her hands. "I don't do this. I never - I never do this."

Draco said nothing, choosing instead to envelop her in his embrace. He kept his hand on the back of her head, feeling the softness of her curls between his fingers. His other arm wrapped tight around her shoulders, pressing her close.

It was nice, being able to hold her like this without having to worry about her skin. Without her being in danger from just the waves of the sea. To just be there for her.

He held her while she wept. He didn't ask her why she was crying, nor did he pressure her to put a damper on it. He simply stood there, letting her body melt into his. Her emotion seemed to ebb and flow like the waves of the sea, going from soft and gentle to near-hysterical as she clung to him with her hands clutching the center of his back. He felt her tears, hot and wet against his chest, but they didn't bother him.

He'd take any part of her, even her tears.

Finally, the sobs subsided into faint, occasional sniffles, and then they were just two people embracing in a room.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice hoarse.

"Don't be," he murmured, and then he tucked her head underneath his chin. He closed his eyes. "Don't be."

"I just . . ." His heart leapt when she dug her fingers into his back. "I was terrified. When I came to you in the Library, I was pretending to be unafraid. In reality, I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life. I felt like I wasn't in control of my body, like anyone could get to me and do whatever they wanted with me."

Draco suppressed a shiver when she turned her face to the side and rested it against him, skin to skin. He combed his fingers through the hair at the back of her head.

"Why did you come to me?" Draco asked.

She answered without hesitation. "Because you risked everything for me."

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Because when it could have gotten your entire family killed, you tried to share my burden in the Manor. When it came time to make a choice, you chose me. So . . . I chose you."

_She . . . Chose me?_

Because he'd used Legilimency on her, that night at the Manor when Aunt Bella was ripping her apart. Because he'd tried to put her back together. To hold her together when he couldn't even hold himself together. He realized now that that was the moment she had forgiven him. The moment he'd chosen a path that had nothing to do with dark or light, Voldemort or Dumbledore, Muggle or wizard.

Draco chose Hermione.

And so she chose to give him something more precious than any gemstone or jewel in his family's Gringotts vault. It wasn't control, and it wasn't her body.

_She gave me her trust._

Draco's throat ached again. His heart beat so fast that it blurred in his chest. He gripped her hair and dragged her head back with a gentle tug. His other hand moved to her lower back. His brow furrowed.

Now, it was time.

"Hermione, look at me."

She lifted her eyes. He heard the breath she took shaking. He held her gaze as steady and firm as his feelings for her had grown.

"I apologize for hurting you," he said, "and I apologize for not understanding that sooner. I know now how I hurt you all these years, and I will never, _never_ let it happen again. And I know that what I did at the Manor can't make up for it all, and that helping you for one day with the Cupere means fuck-all, but -"

She lifted onto her tip-toes, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks. To his surprise, she pressed a kiss to his forehead that was chaste and final.

"Enough, Draco Malfoy," she said. It sounded like she was on the verge of tears again. "I think that's enough apologies for my lifetime. I accept."

He couldn't help but crack a grin, and then he let her go. She stepped out of the circle of his embrace, and even though she hadn't kissed him the way he wanted to kiss her, he found that he felt content. She'd accepted his apology, and that was enough.

"Friends?" she said.

"Friends," he said, and then he ran a hand through his hair.

They stared at one another for a long moment.

"Would you . . . Would you maybe want to go to a gala with me? For Easter?"

She blinked. "You mean . . . _With_ you? Like, as your date?"

Chest hollow, he nodded.

She hesitated, looking down. Draco felt the rejection forming a storm in his mind. He took a step backward, his walls starting to come up again. He shouldn't have asked. He should not have -

"Sure," she said. "Sure, I'll go."

He gave her a small, close-lipped smile, relief flooding him. "Ace. That's . . . All right."

"Well . . . I'd better get back to my dorm."

Draco thought about making a snarky joke, but then decided against it. The air, which had been so warm between them, now felt strange and chilly. Perhaps he'd overstepped her boundaries?

They said their goodbyes with a couple of awkward waves, and Granger took her wand out so she could walk back with it out for protection. Draco waited to close his dorm room door until he was sure she'd made it past the partying students. The moment they started shooting him looks, he slammed his door shut. If there were going to be rumors, they could start tomorrow.

Tonight, he was going to wallow.

As he laid his head down to sleep for the night, one thing kept him awake.

Why did it seem like she wanted to say no?


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Songs of the Chapter: The Less I Know the Better - Tame Impala, Now At Last - Feist,_ _Lovely - billie eilish,_ _Comfort Me - Feist,_ and _Candy - Don Toliver_

x

_April_

Draco Malfoy felt nervous.

Sweat had begun to bead on his palms the moment he woke up that morning, and it collected there all day. Now, the clock had just struck six PM, and it was taking him longer than usual to button his suit jacket. His fingers kept slipping, missing the holes in the jacket, and he felt frustration pooling in his chest. On the verge of giving up, he debated changing into dress robes.

"Draco, my love!"

Narcissa burst into the room. She wore an extravagant silver gown with long sleeves and a plunging neckline, and her white-and-black hair had been scraped back into a pony at the base of her skull. Her lips were dark red, her teeth stark white against their backdrop as she smiled.

"Are you almost ready? The guests have started arriving."

"They have?" Draco's eyes widened. "I thought they weren't arriving until half past?"

"Oh, you know these society Purebloods." Narcissa waved a hand to dismiss his fears. "They're either grievously early or fashionably late. There is no such thing as right on time."

Draco cursed beneath his breath and refocused on his reflection in the mirror. He watched as his mother drifted over to his side. She smacked his hands. Then, with a wave of her fingers, a wandless spell had his buttons done, tie straightened, and messy hair smoothed back. He sighed in relief.

"Thanks, mum," he muttered.

Narcissa raised one eyebrow. "Are you nervous? A Malfoy is never nervous."

"Or so father says." Draco frowned, but said nothing more.

Narcissa put one hand on her hip. "It's been exactly one year since she was last here. Are you sure she's going to be all right in the Manor?"

Draco opened his mouth, but no words came. He didn't know if she would be all right. He'd spent the last couple of weeks at school asking himself that same question.

Granger was a busy witch. She was involved in a lot of extracurricular activities, Draco had discovered. Getting her alone to talk to her about anything was nigh impossible, and there was no way he was going to sit his arse down at the Gryffindor table when rumors had been spreading like wildfire ever since Valentine's Day.

As far as everyone knew, Granger had been poisoned, Richter and Poe were expelled and awaiting misdemeanor trials at home, Draco had punched Cherdley at the party, and Granger had been seen entering Draco's dorm room in March. No one knew how it was all connected, but people talked. Was Draco keen on everyone knowing the status of Granger and his friendship? No. Did he feel remorse for punching Cherdley? No. Did he regret his part in the expulsion of Richter and Poe? Hell to the no.

Did he wish he'd kissed Granger, or at least questioned her on the source of the hesitation he'd sensed when she'd agreed to the date?

Yeah.

If she wasn't flitting about with Francia doing activities, Granger could be found surrounded by a gaggle of Seventh and Eighth Years chattering up a storm. The only time he'd brought up the gala with her since the night in his dorm, it was at the end of a random Potions class where they hadn't been partnered together. She'd been on her way to McGonagall's office to start planning the graduation ceremonies, and she'd only had time to agree on color coordination.

So, Draco felt nervous. All he knew for certain was that they'd agreed on the color black. He wore a white collared Oxford, black tie, black blazer, and black trousers, but he worried. Did he look as foolish as he felt for thinking this was a date? Was it even a date?

Were they really friends, or was the declaration of friendship just a mask for something else?

"Draco?"

Narcissa's voice broke into his thoughts, and he blinked.

"Oh," he said. "Right. Yeah, um . . . I think she'll be all right."

Narcissa stared at him for a long moment, reaching to cup his cheek. "Your father and I . . . We made so many mistakes. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's you, my dragon."

Draco lowered his gaze. "Deserving one doesn't mean I'll receive one. I don't want to mess this up."

"If you want to fit yourself into her puzzle, make yourself fit. She's a witch. I'm sure she'd make room for you if you asked." She pursed her lips. "Don't drop the Snitch here, son. Make sure she feels welcome. I did place silencing charms on the portraits, but you know how finicky those can be. If you hear them start slinging their slurs, it's up to you to manage it."

Draco knew if there was one thing he excelled at, it was managing his witch.

* * *

"Stand up straight, Draco."

Draco stifled the urge to sigh. He did as his mother asked, adjusting the lapels of his blazer as he did so. He'd never liked this part of Pureblood society. It felt droll and useless to greet every single witch and wizard, but tradition was not to ever be questioned.

So far, over one hundred guests dressed to the nines in silks and finery had arrived and made their way into the ballroom. Pansy Parkinson's mum, Coletta Parkinson, was ensuring that everything stayed put-together and on-schedule. Pansy was flitting about somewhere with one of Draco's mates, Blaise Zabini, and they were supposedly assisting with making sure the gainfully employed House Elves stayed on task. Narcissa and Draco remained positioned at the grand entrance to the Manor, to the right of the door with a House Elf named Skippy beside them waiting to take cloaks.

Draco barely managed to perk up when the Robinson family arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Robinson fawned over Draco's growth since they'd last seen him in his Fourth Year,, so he made sure to keep his smile polite and words proper. As he was shaking Mr. Robinson's hand, he wondered when Granger would arrive. He kept running his fingers through his hair, trying to make sure it felt as presentable as he hoped it looked. He didn't want to look foolish when she arrived.

At the sound of a loud yowling outside, he let go of Mr. Robinson's hand.

Granger came stumbling up the steps, looking disheveled and sounding breathless. Draco's eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw the black velvet dress that draped off of her body in the most becoming of ways.

A slit ran up the front, all the way toward the top of her thigh, and her strappy black shoes had platforms that _click_ ed with every step she took. Her curls had been smoothed out and her hair was pulled back into a loose, elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. She'd been given a side-swept fringe and it framed her face quite nicely, her rouged cheeks and crimson-stained lips adding to the altogether charming look.

Then, he looked down.

Squirming and growling in her arms was the most enormous, hairy, orange kneazle that Draco had ever seen.

"Happy Easter, Hermione. And who is _this_ adorable little scone?" Narcissa cried. She didn't sound the slightest bit perturbed.

Draco's expression twisted in incredulity. His mother didn't care that Granger had brought a _kneazle_ to her _Easter gala_?!

Granger stopped, wrestling with the creature as it tried again and again to escape. It's face was flat and pinched, and it looked livid.

"Happy Easter, Mrs. Malfoy. I couldn't find a sitter," Granger said, giving Draco's mother a guilty smile. "I was sure you'd have a room somewhere, perhaps . . . ?"

"Granger, are you _joking_?" Draco's jaw hung open. "A sitter for your _kneazle_?"

"He's only half," she said in protest, pouting and pulling the monstrosity up to nuzzle his face. Then, she narrowed her eyes at Draco. "And Happy Easter to you, too."

Draco flinched, expecting to see claws in Granger's flesh, but to his surprise, the only thing the creature did was blink. Then, he realized what she'd implied and he felt embarrassed.

"Happy Easter, Granger," he said in a smooth tone. "I can't believe you brought a kneazle."

"It's fine, Draco," Narcissa said, waving a hand. "We can put him in Frou-Frou's room."

Draco grimaced. Frou-Frou was his mother's kneazle, and she had his own room in the room between Draco's and his parents' quarters. It was ridiculous, but it wasn't abnormal for his mother to pamper their family pets like that. Frou-Frou was so spoilt that she barely did much more than lounge about and wait for food. Granger's huge fluffball would probably find a lackadaisical welcome.

"Hermione Granger?" Mrs. Robinson sounded surprised, though her voice was strained. "I didn't know you were attending the gala. How lovely!" Then, she pursed her lips in the way a Pureblood witch did when they disapproved of something. "And you brought your . . . Pet."

"Oh, Minnie, don't fret," Narcissa said.

Draco, knowing that the Robinson's had been quiet supporters of the Dark Lord, made a bit of a show placing his hand on Granger's lower back. She was smiling down at the creature, but when Draco touched her, he felt her lean closer to him in an almost absentminded manner. He felt his heart swell, but he remained focused.

The cat made a low growling noise, but Draco was careful not to pull a face. He put on a small smile for the visibly stunned faces of the Robinson's.

"Miss Granger and I are quite close at school," he said, threading all of the wiles he'd learned from his parents into his tone. "She's here as my guest.'

Mr. Robinson's eyebrows shot up, and Mrs. Robinson lifted her chin.

"Is that so?" Mr. Robinson placed a hand over his stomach, as though he were gutted. "That is quite the news. What does your father have to say about that?"

"No doubt nothing proper," Mrs. Robinson said. She pulled an object out of her purse and with a _snap_ , it was revealed to be a paper fan. She waved it back and forth, her gaze washing over Granger's appearance in a way that made Draco's irritation increase. "He can't possibly be pleased to know that there's a _Mud_ -"

"You'll mind your tongue, Minnie," Narcissa snapped. "Any friend of my son's is welcome in our household. Now, Hermione, dear - please let Skippy take your little boy."

Draco was quite grateful for his mother. His wand hand was itching for a duel after what Mrs. Robinson had almost said.

Granger - who was glowering quite openly at Mrs. Robinson - turned her attention to Draco's mother. "His name is Crookshanks, Mrs. Malfoy, and thank you so much for allowing him to be here. I'll take him home with me at the end of the evening."

As she passed the orange monstrosity down into the arms of Skippy, the Robinsons turned and drifted further into the household. Draco was glad for it, too. He was no longer as skilled at holding his temper as he had been before Valentine's Day.

Granger produced her wand from inside a purse that she possessed. She cast a charm to clean her gown of orange fur. Now, Draco was able to see that the V-shaped neck of her strapless dress plunged down to her sternum. The bodice cinched her waist in a way that sent heat to his cheeks. The dress trailed on the ground a bit behind her, and Draco found that he couldn't stop staring at her if he even wanted to.

She smiled at him. "I hope my gown is appropriate. It's from a Muggle fashion designer that I love, and I wasn't sure that it would be -"

"It's great," Draco blurted out, his eyes searching her own.

"Oh," Granger said, blinking and then smiling.

"Yes, it's divine," Narcissa said, clasping her hands together near her throat. "It's Versace?"

Granger blushed and held her purse in front of her. "Oh . . . No. That's definitely not a designer that I could ever afford. It's a smaller designer in London. Stefan Freeds, I believe."

Narcissa beamed. "Well, it certainly looks like a Versace, and it is absolutely stunning. Welcome to our home."

Draco felt the invisible weight of his nerves beginning to lift. It was clear that his mother approved of Granger, and that was enough for him. He did hold some reservations, however, about the circumstances under which Granger was here. The night he'd asked her to the gala, she'd seemed to hesitate before agreeing to come. He wanted to know why.

His mother told them to go ahead to the ballroom and join the festivities, so they left Narcissa to greet the rest of the guests and went inside.

The ballroom - which had been renovated to white marble and crystal chandeliers since Lucius's imprisonment - was full to the brim with dancing couples and mingling groups. House Elves wandered around, passing out drinks and hors d'oeuvres to guests who wanted them. Music from a small orchestra and singer that his mother had hired filled the room with faint melodies and lyrics, and the overall atmosphere was pleasant. Draco thought he caught a glimpse of Blaise and Pansy, but he couldn't be sure in the crowd.

Granger seemed in awe of the way the ballroom looked from the way she craned her neck to take in the extravagant chandeliers that his mother bought.

"I'm glad you're, you know, here," Draco said, rubbing the back of his neck as they lingered near one of the walls.

"What, did you think I wouldn't come?" Granger smirked up at him. "Suave Draco Malfoy, stood up at the ball."

Draco shot her a look, but smirked in return. "I would have been able to find another date."

"Question is," she replied with a laugh, "would you have wanted to?"

He gazed down at her, absorbing her appearance and the smile on her face. Images of their experiences together flashed through his mind, permanent reminders of the only instances he felt like he actually mattered. He could still remember what it had felt like to kiss her, and how hard it had been to render her unconscious that night knowing that it was almost like knocking her out.

Who would have thought that a seemingly innocuous agreement to help her that day, those weeks ago, would have resulted in her standing inside his home with him as his date?

If she would have stood him up, it would have broken him.

"No," he murmured, glancing down at her lips and then back up at her eyes. "I wouldn't have."

She blushed for the second time, and then looked out at the dance floor. Witches and wizards laughed merrily as they swung each other about in dreamy circles. Draco bit his lower lip. He'd never much fancied galas or balls. The Yule Ball had been a nightmare, and if he never had to wear dress robes or dance again, he'd be happy. But now, being here with Granger, he figured he wouldn't mind dancing with her.

He'd give her whatever she wanted. All she had to do was ask.

Granger let out a small sigh. "Oh, I do love this song . . ."

Draco tilted his head to the side and listened for a moment. "It's nice. What song is it?"

" _Now At Last_ ," she said. "It's a Muggle song from 1956, if I remember correctly."

Draco swallowed. There was no point in asking a witch to a ball if you weren't going to dance with her.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, gesturing towards the dance floor. "Before - before it's over?"

"Hm," she said. "I'm not certain . . ."

"You don't dance?"

"I do. I mean, I _can_. Just . . ." She gave him a sheepish grin. "I can't dance very well."

Draco chuckled, combing his hair back. "Krum didn't teach you how back in Fourth Year?"

"He was even worse than I!" She laughed. "I've only ballroom danced three times in my life. Once, at the Yule Ball. Again, at Bill Weasley and Fleur Delaceur's wedding. And then the last time was actually with Harry in a tent."

Draco felt the tiniest pang of jealousy. He supposed he hadn't thought about the possibility of Granger and Potter having any sort of fling. It made a lot more sense than her and the Weaselbee.

It worried him. Compared to Saint Potter, Draco was Lucifer incarnate.

"Dancing in a tent with Potter," he said, his upper lip curling slightly. "Quaint."

"Don't be that way," she scolded with a smile. "It's not the way you think."

"I see."

"In any case, the last thing I want to do is humiliate myself in front of witches like," she rolled her eyes, " _Mrs. Robinson_."

Draco clenched his teeth and averted his eyes from her. For some reason, he felt ashamed. He hadn't wanted her to have a poor experience in his home, yet she'd already had one in the first five minutes of being inside the doors. He was so angry by it, in fact, that he was certain if it had been Mr. Robinson almost uttering the slur, he might have drawn his wand.

Or his fist.

They stood in silence for a while, watching everyone dance, and Draco felt the pain of nostalgia. He remembered the Yule Ball and what a disaster it had been. He'd only taken Pansy for a turn around the dance floor twice before the spirits Crabbe had smuggled into the dance had gotten him sozzled. He'd been a prat and ditched Pansy in the middle for some other Slytherin girl. Pansy had dumped porridge on his head the following morning. It was a wonder she'd remained his friend for so long after the incident.

After a good ten minutes, Narcissa appeared from the crowd and looked surprised to see them.

"Draco? You're not dancing?"

Draco glared pointedly at his mother, but she wasn't having any of it.

"You need to take Hermione for a turn," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Don't make me embarrass you in front of her, my dragon. You can't just _stand_ by the wall! Draco -"

"All right, all right!" Draco held up his hands. Anxious, he pushed them through his hair for the umpteenth time. He could feel the panic starting to build. He didn't want to look like a fool in front of Granger, but he was nervous. He was always nervous around her when he didn't feel like he was the one in control.

Narcissa smiled and spread her own hands. "Wonderful. That's wonderful, isn't it, Hermione?"

"Oh, um . . . Yes," Granger said with a laugh. She looked at Draco. "Well? Want to take my two left feet around the room?"

Draco gave her a lopsided grin and nodded. As they made their way towards the floor, Draco shot his mother a withering glare. One that she returned with a sly smirk of her own.

Stopping somewhere in the center of the twirling dancers, the sounds of the music battling with the chatter of the guests, Draco held his hands out to her. She was laughing again, even as she placed one hand on his right shoulder and the other in his left hand. He placed his hand on her hips - hips that he'd felt way too many times for them to just be " _friends,"_ and squeezed her fingers. With a cool expression, he raised one eyebrow.

"Ready?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"I am."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then she began to giggle.

"You're supposed to lead, Malfoy."

Draco tried not to curse aloud at himself. "Oh. Right."

After a couple of toe-stepping moments and some initial confusion about direction, they managed to settle into a rhythm. Draco went over the steps he remembered Professor McGonagall teaching them Fourth Year, but he was about as poor at it as Granger was. They must have looked a sight, being their age, having to watch their feet. Draco began to feel sweat underneath his arms.

What if this was making everything _weirder_?

"Draco," Granger said. "Calm down."

Draco looked down at her, then further down at their feet as he narrowly missed stepping on her left foot again. He looked at her once more. "Sorry."

"It's just a dance. I'm the _last_ witch to worry about impressing a room full of stuffy, hoity-toity Purebloods who bring _fans_ into the house during _Spring_."

Draco breathed a laugh, willing himself to relax as they spun and swayed. "'Hoity-toity'?"

"It's a Muggle phrase."

"Should have figured."

They staggered a bit as Draco misstepped. Granger's heel caught on the side of his shoe. Another laugh left her lips as she almost fell, Draco having to take the hand that was on her waist and slide it around her back to keep her upright. With the added height, her face was close. Though she still had to tilt her head back to hold eye contact, it put things into a different perspective. Draco resisted the urge to slant his lips over her own just because her laugh was so intoxicating.

With the way the smile still hadn't left her eyes and the way she seemed to be looking at his lips, too, it seemed like now was a better time than ever.

"Draco?" she said, searching his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. You're going to make me think I've got something on my face! I don't, do I?"

"You do, in fact," he murmured, half of his lips tilted up in a semblance of a smile. "Let me take care of it for you."

"Huh?"

Draco's gaze intensified as he slid his hand up the length of her spine and wrapped it around the back of her neck. She gasped at his touch, giving his fingers an involuntary squeeze in the process. He leaned forward, his longing increasing tenfold as he felt her body molding to fit the curves of his own.

He opened his mouth, about to ask permission, but a voice from behind Granger shattered their peace.

"Pardon me, Miss Granger . . ."

Draco's gaze slid past his witch's face, and upon seeing it, Granger turned her head to look back over her shoulder at the newcomer. Draco let his hand drift down to her waist again.

A man stood behind her with a hopeful expression on his face, dressed in expensive navy blue dress robes. Draco recognized him from school . . . Gianni Blanco. He had been two years ahead of them at Hogwarts, if Draco remembered correctly, and his family wasn't too well-known to the Malfoys.

"Yes?" Granger answered, her hands still heavy on Draco's shoulder and palm.

Gianni inclined his head to Draco. "Happy Easter. To both of you. I hope it wouldn't be too bold of me to ask Miss Granger for a quick dance? May I cut in?"

Draco felt an uncomfortable twisting in his stomach and a violent urge to snog Granger in front of the entire room. With tongue.

Granger exhaled, her brow furrowing. "Oh, I supp -"

Draco tightened his hold on her waist - _his_ waist - and fixed Gianni with the same expression he'd seen on his father's face countless times during the war. " _Above all else,_ no one _touches my witch,"_ Lucius had been forced to say to many a Death Eater, and Greyback more than twice. And finally, now that his heart belonged to her, Draco understood why his father had been so uncharacteristically aggressive about it.

No one was touching his witch.

"I'm afraid she's otherwise occupied at the moment," he said, his voice coming out in a dangerous purr. His gaze scanned Gianni's face in a way that he hoped was threatening.

Gianni's face fell. "Are you certain? Excuse my pointing it out, but you've been standing here for -"

Draco cut him off, drawing his shoulders back and putting his hand on Granger's lower back. "And I can't stand in the center of _my_ dance floor in _my_ home with _my_ witch?"

A couple of people nearby turned their gazes to them. Draco hoped he didn't have to give them a show. Granger was looking at him, too, but Draco felt his blood boiling too hot for him to look away from Gianni.

Gianni seemed to be smarter than he looked. He raised his hands, looking nervous.

"My apologies, Dra - erm - Mr. Malfoy," he said, taking two slow steps back. "I did not mean to offend. I merely thought . . . I wasn't aware."

He turned and melted back into the crowd. There were still some people watching them, which Draco gave a few polite nods to, and then he dragged Granger flush against him. The next song began, so he led her to resume dancing. The people who were watching them finally stopped and went back to their own dancing.

"Well, I know what to expect to read in the _Prophet_ tomorrow." Granger sighed. "My galleon's on something to do with the great heir to Malfoy throne sullied by a Mud -"

"Don't even say it," Draco growled, and then he dipped her. She inhaled sharply when he did so. "And if you prefer not to have your name in the press, I can always have him killed."

"You need to get your anger under control, Draco," Granger scolded as they swept around and around. "You've already dealt with way too many wizards the Muggle way. I'm starting to think you're just someone else Polyjuiced to _look_ like Draco Malfoy. I've half a mind to be jealous of your Potion-brewing skills, if so."

Draco narrowed his eyes when she laughed at her own joke.

"Laugh all you want, Granger," he said with a sly smile of his own. He lowered his head, looking her directly in the eyes. "I don't like to share."

Her eyes widened a bit and he saw her gaze flit down to his lips. When their eyes met again, he saw that the apples of her cheeks appeared pinker than they were already rouged to be.

"Friends," she said, raising her eyebrows, "my arse."

"What?" Draco growled, his heart beating faster.

She shook her head, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Never mind."

They danced for a bit, focusing more on their feet than on each other. Draco was unsure if the issue was his dancing abilities, or if he was just so tense and worried that he was bungling everything. He couldn't stop thinking about her hesitation. What if she didn't even want to be here? Gianni and Cherdley were only two of the men who were interested in her, and frankly, neither of them had Death Eater credits under their belts. What if they were better men than he was? What if he was making a complete barmy _fool_ of himself?

He felt like he was a Third Year again.

"Merlin, this house is enormous," she said, glancing about. "Do you ever tire of it?"

"In the Summers."

"You have a Summer home, don't you?" She shook her head, almost in disapproval. "No one needs multiple homes."

"You didn't have a Summer home?" He feigned shock.

"I don't believe in capitalism," she said. "A system that favors the rich and allows them to have multiple homes for a three-person family? No, thank you."

He gave her a strange look, not knowing what capitalism was, nor what to respond with. Thankfully, he was saved when she began to laugh and squeeze his hand.

"Oh, my. That reminds me of a funny story. One Summer - I think it was my . . . Summer after Fifth Year? I made friends with a neighbor girl and she was a bit . . . Well, more on the Slytherin side. We snuck out so many times."

"Snuck out? You mean, of the house?"

She nodded, and she looked radiant when she grinned. "I got sozzled more times than I could count at the park near her house. Well, one night, we got so sozzled that we stumbled into the wrong house coming home. Turned out, her backyard fence looked exactly the same as our elderly neighbor Marietta's. We made such a ruckus trying to get in that she called the authorities. I was grounded for the rest of the holiday."

"Grounded?" He tilted his head to the side.

"Well, you definitely don't know anything Muggle. Grounding is what Muggle parents do to punish their children when they break the rules. It means I was confined to the household for a predetermined amount of time. For me, I was grounded until Hogwarts came back in session."

Draco couldn't help but smirk. "Why, Granger. I didn't take you for a troublemaker. Breaking the rules? Seems a bit Slytherin for you, don't you think?"

"I can be bad sometimes, too," she said, her gaze scanning his face before she said, "I'd prefer it if you didn't tell anyone that tale. _Especially_ any of my friends."

He had to vehemently and violently shove back his sudden desire to Apparate them both to his bedroom at her first sentence.

"What were your Summers like, aside from the - the grinding?" He thought of his own Summers after Fourth year, and how bleak and grey they'd been. How terrified he'd been to come home to the Dark Lord living in his home, the place that was supposed to be safe.

She burst out laughing. " _Grounding_. And they were usually simple. That was my most eventful one. I usually spent them reading, homeschooling with Muggle subjects, and traveling with my parents." Suddenly, a far-off look entered her eyes as their spinning slowed to a sway for a moment. Then, she perked up. "How were yours?"

Filing her reaction away for later, he told her as much as he felt was necessary. "My father and I spent a lot of time together. He . . . He has his shortcomings, but one thing I'll never forget about him was how he could always make my mother smile. Even if he was an arse and a bad man, that's important to me."

They looked into each other's eyes, deep, and it felt like Draco was drowning.

_One day, I hope I can make you smile the way he did for her._

Granger smiled after a moment as he swept her around in another wide circle. "I think that's wonderful."

Draco gazed at her lips, his mind buzzing. Before he could stop himself, he murmured, "I think _you're_ wonderful."

They looked at one another, and it felt like they were each studying the other, trying to see inside.

"Why did you pick me to help you with the potion?" Draco asked, the words falling out of his mouth easier than he'd thought they would. He'd asked this question multiple times, but it still felt like something was missing from her answers. Like each one was just a piece of a much larger puzzle.

"Why did you say yes?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you answering a question with a question?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath, and then opened them. They were as clear as crystal. "I said it gave me _heightened_ attraction, remember?"

Draco started to scoff, but his mind was already beginning to work. The cogs turned and spun, piecing the puzzle together until the picture became clear. He nearly stopped the dance again, but settled for a continued sway.

"You didn't have a choice," he said. "Did you?"

She shook her head and bit her lip again. "It drew me to you because I was already attracted."

Draco's heart was pounding, and he could hardly think straight. "When?"

She hesitated and then lifted her chin. "Sixth Year. That was when I saw you for who you really were: a boy. A boy, forced to make impossible choices by adults who couldn't be arsed to fight the war themselves. I saw a lot of myself in you. Feeling trapped by the fact that you cared for people you loved, and having to make decisions that you didn't want to make. I think I . . . I think that was when I began to really see you as a person, and not just a bully. But . . . It was the Manor when I realized there was something that intrigued me about you. The fact that you would try to help me when you were essentially facing down the death of yourself and possibly your family? After everything you did in Sixth Year to keep them safe? I think that as morbid as that sounds, your courage to do that small thing . . . Was attractive."

Draco wanted to kiss her so badly that he couldn't breathe. She was saying the words, admitting that she felt something for him. It was everything he'd been dreaming of hearing for so long, but had never thought he'd ever hear. He was in shock.

But he wasn't too in shock to give her one more thing that he owed her.

"Hermione," he said, her name tasting like sweet candy on his tongue. "I'm so sorry for everything that I did wrong - for every bad choice I ever made that led us here. I wish that . . . If it's any comfort to you, I loathe everything that I am, and everything that I've come to be. You don't deserve someone as wicked as me, but I'll be damned if I don't make the most of the time we have, even if you didn't actually want to come."

"Draco -"

"Please. Let me say this to you," he said, voice almost desperate.

She closed her mouth, her brow furrowing with worry as she nodded.

He continued, "I don't deserve your forgiveness, and you don't owe it to me. Just know that I helped you with the Cupere because I care what happens to you. I always will. Even if this is the last time we speak or interact, and we leave the potion in the past, just know that I . . . That I care about you."

She pressed her lips together and for a moment, Draco worried it looked like she might cry.

"Draco . . ." she said. "You think I didn't want to come here?"

He looked away as he resumed their spinning, twirling ballroom dance. "It seemed like you hesitated, yes."

"That's not why I hesitated," she said. "Honestly. It was a big decision for me, but I knew I had to make it right then. I just needed to take that moment to breathe and know that I was making the right choice. I'm scared of what happens when I'm around you. I'm scared of what I feel."

Draco's heart beat so fast that he felt faint. He tried not to show his inner turmoil on his face, instead choosing to feign an almost cool indifference.

What _did_ she feel, exactly? Attraction, yes. Fear, apparently.

But why?

"So . . . You want to be here?"

She gave an incredulous laugh. "Of course. I didn't pay 300 pounds for this dress for nothing, you prat!"

He smirked. He couldn't stop it. "I'll buy you a thousand dresses just like it. And, for that matter, I'll give you your 300 pounds back. In Galleons."

She flushed. "You'll do no such thing."

They fell silent, but this time, it was a little more comfortable than the last one. Draco's inner self was rejoicing. He couldn't believe she felt something for him, even if he didn't quite know what it was.

He was determined to find out.

"You know, I think this is the least dramatic conversation we've ever had," Granger said, "and that's saying something."

Draco drew his brows together. He wished he felt the same. Everything involving her felt dramatic for him. Every moment he spent having to actually be himself was physically overwhelming. His anxiety was a near constant, steady pulsing in his chest. It was only his feelings for her that kept him in this dance. "What?"

"Don't even bother trying to deny it, or deny that you aren't _the_ most dramatic wizard in all of Britain," Granger warned with a twinkle in her honey-brown eyes. "Every conversation we've ever had has been steeped in dramatics. But this one is just . . . Normal."

Draco felt his heart stutter sadly. "Is that . . . Bad?"

Granger giggled. "No, of course not. It's nice."

"Nice."

"Yes."

Draco's brows rose. "Well. I don't think I've ever been described as nice. Dramatic, yes. But not nice."

Granger frowned and watched her feet as they swayed. "I happen to think you're a rather nice person. Maybe you didn't used to be, but for the most part, you have a caring heart. I think that if I would have asked anyone else for help with the Cupere, they wouldn't have wanted to do what it took to ensure I still maintained agency over my body and my life. Anyone else would have insisted I go to the Infirmary. But you . . . You chose to help me. And not only that, but you had more respect for me than I even had for myself. Every step of the way, you made sure I was safe and comfortable. Sometimes at the expense of your own comfort."

Draco stared at her, stopping mid-twirl. She thought he was caring? It almost sounded absurd, given their past together. For Hermione Granger to think of him having any measure of compassion at all was a testament to how far they'd come. He had indeed tried his best to ensure she was comfortable. He only wanted her to be happy, and he would have done anything to keep her from being poisoned. Because he cared about her - _really_ cared about her - there was no way he could have turned down her plea for help.

"Why'd you stop dancing?" she asked, appearing confused.

"Do you . . ." He cast a glance towards the doors. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Her jaw dropped and she blinked up at him. "You mean, leave the gala?"

He nodded.

She cast thoughtful glances around the room, at the dancing witches and spinning wizards. Draco studied her as she did. Her hand was small in his own. He felt like he wanted to curl his fingers around it and clutch it close to his chest.

"Where would we go?" she asked, and it seemed like she looked a little worried. "Not to the -"

"No," he said with a quick shake of his head, knowing which room she was apprehensive of. "I wouldn't take you there."

She eyed him. "Well . . . All right."

Draco's face split into a smile and then he stepped away from her. With his hand on her lower back, he whisked her out of the room. As they went, he saw another glimpse of Blaise and, because she was near, Pansy. Pansy locked eyes with him, her brows rising, and then she grinned. Just as quickly, she disappeared into the crowd.

"Where are you taking me?" Granger asked, looking up at him and laughing as they made their way through the crowd.

Draco's smile lit him up from the inside-out.

"I've got a surprise for you."

* * *

The Malfoy Manor's Library was Draco's favorite part of his house.

It resembled the Hogwarts Library in many ways, with tall shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, weaving a literary maze through the large room. Each one was packed full to the brim with literature, ranging from historical to fictional to studies of magical arts. It was widely assumed at Hogwarts that the Malfoy library contained nothing but Dark texts, however that wasn't the case at all. The Dark Arts only possessed a small section on one side of one of the stacks. The rest of the Library was chock full of information of the magical world at large.

Draco didn't have much to offer a witch that was as remarkable as Hermione Granger, but he did have this.

"Oh . . . My . . . _Godric_." Granger gasped and spun to the left and right, her eyes greedy as they took in the sight. "There's got to be _thousands_ of books in here."

Draco chuckled as she made a beeline for the nearest shelf, her fingers skimming the spines of books that had been in the Malfoy family for centuries.

"These are preserved quite well," she said, flipping through a book that looked Victorian in design. "Are they charmed?"

Draco meandered over with his hands in his pockets, nodding. "They are. My mother renews the charms every few months or so to ensure that they stay in pristine condition. There many books here that are singular copies, rare, or even forbidden in some countries' magical communities."

Not much conversation was had as Granger dove headfirst into the Library. Draco could hardly get a word in edgewise as she excitedly walked the carpeted aisles, pulling out books and piling them in his arms. He followed behind her, smiling to himself as her stack grew higher and higher.

"My arms are going to fall off," he said when his biceps began to burn. "Care to stop and, oh. I dunno. _Read_?"

She glared at him for a moment and then plopped another book atop the pile, which was already at his chin. "I just want to make sure I get everything I can now, and then I want to read. Where can we sit?"

Draco gestured with a jerk of his head to the section that was designated for reading. There were two large, plush armchairs of burgundy velvet, and a matching loveseat sofa. The furniture was situated near a fireplace that was charmed to burn perpetually, and there were small end tables beside each one.

"Seriously," Draco complained when he saw her start to turn towards another aisle. "My arms are quivering. They are _quivering_."

Granger scowled. "Thank you, Dramatic Malfoy, for letting me know. Come, then."

He gave her a bit of a smug look. They headed for the chairs. Then, he remembered something.

"Wait."

She turned back to look at him. He stepped forward and handed her the books. She made a small noise as she shouldered the weight of the stack. Draco pulled his wand out of his sleeve and waved it towards the ceiling. Together, the two of them watched as a hidden charm triggered, and the black stone moved and shifted to reveal a vivid starry night sky.

"Oh," she said, sounding delighted as she looked up at the display. "Is it really the sky, or is it false?"

"It's false depictions of the real sky." He twirled his wand, and the stars moved and swirled to form the same night sky, but on a different date. "I can pick any date I want, any view . . . What do you want to have the best view of? Mars? Orion's Belt? Which?"

He watched as her lips curled up into a small smile. The delicate curve of her jaw as it tilted up. The curly tendrils of hair that had escaped her chignon.

She looked stunning.

"Hmm . . . Venus. Since you were so fascinated by it in class."

Draco shot her a playful glare, but did as she bid. Moments later, they were staring up at the same night sky that they had viewed in Astronomy the night he asked her to be his date to the gala. Fitting.

Once they were seated in the chairs, the fireplace ignited and the lanterns to the bare acceptable level to read by, they perused the books for a while. As he had expected, Granger adored the Library. He was fairly certain this was the most fun she'd had all evening.

He watched her, pretending to read his own book, and wondered if she knew how deep his feelings ran for her. If she knew how long he'd desired to be in her life as more than just a memory of a bad past. If she knew how he felt for her.

"Granger?"

She turned a page in her current tome. It was a borderline ancient text full of pagan magic from Greece. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry that it was me."

Her head snapped up sharply. "What?"

"I'm sorry that it wasn't someone you trusted. I'm sorry that I feel things for you that I have no right to feel."

She stared at him until he felt like he was squirming in his seat, even though he wasn't moving.

"Stop apologizing," she said. She closed her book, not bothering to hold her place. "Whether you want my forgiveness or not, you've got it. So let's just try and be . . . Friends."

She seemed to trip on the word.

"Friends," he repeated. With the starry sky above them on the ceiling, the atmosphere around them felt eerily similar to the night they'd looked at Venus.

She nodded, but the look in her eyes showed that she seemed to hold some reservations. She was quiet, and he could almost feel her stubbornness. She pouted at the ground for a moment and then spoke.

"This book has an entire section on a type of magic that seems a lot like Occlumency," she said, sounding in awe. Her finger scanned down the page. "It's all in Latin, but I did study it over the Summers. It basically insinuates that the first natural Occlumens - or person who had the ability to block out dangerous magic from the mind - was a witch by the name of Alexandria. She supposedly saved her village from attack by a dark creature or monster of some sort just by blocking him out with her mind. This is fascinating."

"You _would_ study Latin in your free time," he muttered, earning himself a sharp glare.

"I always wondered," she said, pressing on. "Who taught you Occlumency?"

"I was born with the ability to Occlude naturally," he said, feeling an uncomfortable twist in his gut at the reveal of more personal information. He didn't know if she even wanted to hear it. "But Severus helped me hone it."

"Severus?" Granger sounded curious.

To tell her or not to tell her. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ her to know things about him. He just didn't think he deserved to share things about himself. He was scum and she was everything. He was only going to make her life worse. She would always have to remember this day as one that she spent with Draco Malfoy, who she only had a gala date with because she'd been violated with a lust potion. It was awful.

But he was already here, and he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her to know about him.

Maybe if she knew about him, it would be easier for her to see a possible future of a friendship with him. And then, perhaps _he_ could get to know _her_ , and -

_No._

_You don't deserve her friendship._

But Salazar's beard, was he selfish as fuck.

"Professor Snape was my godfather," he said, staring at the floor. "We were close, believe it or not."

"Really? I thought he was more of the cold sort of man. Hm. I'm surprised."

"And what did you think of me? I wasn't exactly an _incendio_ spell wrapped in a warming charm."

"That . . . Is true."

He couldn't help it. Half of his mouth quirked upward in the ghost of a smile.

"Tell me?" she said. "About him?"

He hesitated, but there was little resistance within him. He _wanted_ to talk to her.

"He wasn't awful," Draco said in a soft voice. Memories of quiet nights spent in the Manor Library on the Winter hols and tea in the mornings before breakfast in the Great Hall made him feel nostalgic. "He was . . . Misunderstood. He was an emotional person, but time and fear kept him from ever really letting his guard down. He had a dry sense of humor. But he was loyal - as I'm sure you knew. Even after the Dark Lord returned, he stayed loyal to Professor Dumbledore. To Dumbledore, and to my mother and I."

"Your mother and he were close?"

"Like siblings," he said, playing his fingers through his hair repeatedly, lost in thoughts of the past. He'd already mourned ten times over for Severus, but sitting here, finally able to talk about him with someone? It felt like the night of the Battle all over again. He didn't want to feel this. Not now.

"I don't have any siblings," Granger said, drawing his attention. "So you and I are both only children, believe it or not. Something we have in common."

He felt his cheeks heating and he took some deep breaths. She was telling him something personal. This was progress. Progress he didn't deserve, but progress he was going to accept.

"What about your parents?" he asked, remembering how distant she'd been outside the hut when they'd last spoken about this subject. "Tell me. About them, I mean."

She said nothing for quite a bit of time. So long, in fact, that he grew concerned. He snuck a glance at her, hand still in his hair, and saw that she was staring into the dark part of the stacks that the light from the false stars, fireplace, and lanterns didn't reach. For some reason, sitting on the armchair in that extravagant dress, she looked small and sad. It made him feel his heart wrench.

He never wanted to see her look like this again.

"Granger?"

She blinked a few times, coming out of her reverie with a bit of a shiver. "Hm? Oh . . . Well, my parents' names are Elizabeth and John. They're dentists."

He waited.

"I _obliviate_ d them."

"You . . . _What_?"

She closed her eyes, the book still open on her lap. "I don't want to go into details, but . . . You and I both had to make sacrifices because of Voldemort."

Draco knew what it was like to lose a parent who was still alive. The last thing he wanted to do was press her about it.

"Then we won't talk about it," he said. "Let's read."

She gave him a small, almost grateful smile, and they went back to doing just that.

As the minutes wore on, Draco found that his heart and mind were both racing against one another. It seemed like neither knew which direction they were racing in: only that they were running towards something overwhelming. He felt like he just wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep, but at the same time, he felt like he wanted to grab onto her and never let go. He felt so out of control at the moment.

"Can I ask you a question, Draco?"

Draco closed his book, which he'd been barely skimming the same page of for fifteen minutes. He gave her a curt nod.

"If I . . . I know this seems out of place and really left of the Pitch, but . . ." She lowered her head, her fingers plucking at the top edge of the pages. "I think we need to talk."

His brow furrowed. They'd already talked about everything important under the sun that day. He was already in the midst of a continuing anxiety attack. She wanted to discuss something _else_?

"Okay . . . ? Talk about what?"

"Us." Her eyes shot open and she stammered, "I-I mean . . . What I mean to say is . . . We need to talk about the potion."

The frown lines deepened on his face. "Haven't we already found out everything there is to know?"

"About the potion itself, yes. For the most part. However, I am concerned about something."

"Concerned about what?"

"The way I acted." She paused. "The way I _reacted_."

Draco's panic levels were starting to rise. This conversation was too much. He watched her, his mouth dry and tongue feeling swollen. His lips felt glued shut. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and placed his chin on the knuckles of his right hand. If anything, he needed to pretend he wasn't absolutely losing his marbles inside.

"How d'you mean?" he said. His voice was a little breathier than normal.

She set the book aside on the stack, gingerly straightening it until it completely lined up with the rest. She didn't look at him. "I'm sure you know what I mean, but in the interests of . . . The importance of this conversation, we should agree to speak freely."

Draco stared at her, and then he reached for his wand. "Do we need a silencing charm for this conversation?"

He had a feeling they did.

When she nodded, still looking at the stack of books, he realized he was right.

He knew exactly what they were about to discuss.

After casting a _muffliato_ and a charm to alert them if anyone wandered near the Library doors, he turned his attention back to her. He resumed the fake-nonchalant pose he'd been using earlier, this time crossing his legs.

There was only one thing for it. He would have to Occlude. He was starting to feel dizzy.

"What did you want to discuss?" he said once his walls were sufficiently in place. The relief from the mounting panic was immediate.

Granger finally looked at him across the stack of books on the end table between them. "I need to know why you said yes to me. Not the reasons you've already shared. I need to know the reason you haven't made clear."

Draco, now Occluded and calm, was able to answer her with ease.

"I like to have control." He steepled his fingers before him. "I need it."

She looked thoughtful, like she was absorbing the information. She folded her hands in her lap. This felt for all the world like a business meeting.

"Control?" she echoed.

"Yes."

"Of who? Of me?"

His eyes locked onto hers. "Of you."

"Okay," she said, the word stretched out. "Okay. All right. Why?"

He didn't take his eyes off of her. It seemed that with Occlusion, he was more easily able to access the feelings that he'd felt during their encounters on Valentine's. He did feel in control, and something about the way she seemed to be squirming with nerves awakened something familiar in him. And this thing, though he knew what it was, was something that he had yet to voice aloud to anyone.

"Because I feel out of control when I am not the one in charge, and that causes me stress." His chin was in his palm now. He used his free hand to push his hair back.

"And is this in general?" Her eyebrows shifted up for a fraction of a second. Her tone was razor-sharp. "Is this something you feel with every witch?"

Draco didn't know how to answer her. On one side of the galleon, he had definitely been controlling in the bedroom with other witches. But on the other, those witches weren't Hermione Granger. There was something forbidden about the thought of having complete control over her, as formidable a witch as she was. Even in his Occluded state, he could feel his heart rate picking up.

So he changed tactics.

"Is there a reason why you're asking me these questions, Granger? You were the one who was dosed with the potion. I can't see how it would adversely affect me in any way, when I didn't feel any differently that day."

"Because it seemed suspicious to me that you would agree to help me," she said. "Especially knowing that it was _me_ who was asking you."

Un-Occluded, he would have stumbled over his words. But Occluded, he said exactly what he wanted to say and felt no fear.

"It's that difficult to believe that I would want to fuck you?"

She coughed on the air she breathed and scowled.

"Oh, honestly, Draco. What would you have said if I'd just waltzed into the Library on any other day and asked you to help give me orgasms all day? Given our past, it's just not believable to me."

His heart jumped when she said his name, as it always did whether he was Occluded or not. "What would _you_ have said if _I'd_ done it? Would you have agreed to help me if it were I who were dosed? It's not as if you'd have let me off without at least a stinging hex to the bollocks. _Given our past_ , that makes sense to you, yeah?"

She averted her gaze to the starry sky above, chewing on her lower lip.

He narrowed his eyes. "Granger . . . What would you have said?"

Granger crossed her legs, too, and the slit on her skirt revealed the entire length of her leg. Draco thought he might go mad. Occlusion did nothing to hold the lust at bay - only the emotions he wanted held back.

"Granger," he growled, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. " _What_ would you have said?"

Her gaze snapped back to meet his. "I would have agreed to help you, Draco. You know that. There's no need for you to prise it out of my cold, dead hands."

He felt his walls shudder at the revelation, so he doubled down on his magic to keep them in place. She was telling him something big. Something that could shatter his world. He stared at her so intensely that he was sure she would burst into flames.

"I want to -" - _Rip that fucking dress off of you._

He stopped himself and straightened his back. His fingers carded through his soft hair again, and the smoothness helped to ground him.

"So we're attracted to one another," he said in a calm voice. "Okay. Now, what is your concern about your reaction? The fact that you were submissive to me?"

She frowned, her lips twisting to one side. "Yes."

"Are you . . . Normally submissive?" His walls shivered, but he held firm.

"No, I'm not," she said. "That's the thing. I feel, though, that I truly am that way. I just didn't realize it until the Cupere. Which scares me, because I don't know if I'm really that way - if I enjoy the loss of control, or if it was just the potion."

Draco sat back, rubbing his chin in thought. His calm, Occluded self had a suggestion, but he knew it was barmy. It was completely wrong.

But he wanted it so badly. He wanted _her_ so badly that it hurt.

"I mean . . ." He cleared his throat and then spoke with his hand still on his chin. "I would say that we could try something to see if you truly are, but it doesn't seem like you'd be amenable to . . ." He trailed off. She was staring at him more intently than she ever had before. "Did you . . . Actually _want_ to -"

"Yes," she said, so fast that it was as if she'd thrown the word at him. "I mean, we could try."

Draco was having a seriously difficult time keeping his mouth moistened. "Try."

"Yes, you know for . . . Research. Like we did with the Cupere."

Mental images of their encounters in the hut assailed him, and he swallowed. "Always research with you, innit?"

She gave him a look. "I'm only eighteen. I'm inexperienced when it comes to these things. What if it _is_ the potion and I go down a road that traumatizes me? Or what if it's who I really am, and I never feel fulfilled? And who else am I going to ask for help with this from? You're the only one who knows this part of me, whether it's real or false, and you're the only one I trust not to hurt me if we do try it. Draco, please understand."

Draco tilted his head back on the chair and stared up at the stars, at Venus twinkling inside of Aries. It wasn't that he wanted to say no. He wanted to say yes. The issue was that he was tired of taking things from her that he didn't deserve. He exhaled heavily.

"Another favor, then?"

"Whatever it takes," she said, and she sounded desperate. When Draco looked into her eyes, he could see that she was.

"This means that much to you?" He was unable to keep the tiny thread of hope from worming its way through his walls and into his voice.

"I'm afraid to lose agency over my body this way forever, just because of one arsehole's crime."

Draco studied her. There was no potion this time. He couldn't just touch her skin and be done with it. He would have to touch her. _Really_ touch her. Did she understand that?

"Typically, there's contracts with this sort of situation," he said, sitting forward with his hands curved over his kneecaps. "An agreed-upon word that you can use to feel safe. A secluded space. You're with someone you trust."

She sat up straight and this time, when she bit her lip, Draco felt something dark within him stirring.

"I trust you with my body," she said. "I consent to this. We don't need a contract."

"Rules, Granger," he reminded her.

"We don't need a contract," she insisted, scooting to the edge of the chair. "I'll follow the same rules I agreed to on Valentine's."

Draco chewed the inside of his cheek. If it weren't for his Occlumency, he knew he'd be having a full-blown panic attack. She was asking him to essentially be intimate, to let him control her and do things to her, just to prove a point. She was insisting upon it. She seemed to need it.

He didn't need to 'research' anything. She was a submissive witch, through and through. But she needed to find out for herself. He was not going to make her decisions for her, nor was he going to tell her anything about her own body.

"What are you wanting to do?" he said, slowly unbuttoning his blazer as he rose to his feet. His hands were a bit clammy. "I won't do anything you don't want to do."

She looked at the air between them in thought, and then she looked up at him. "Start small. And then we'll see."

Draco already knew what he wanted first. "Take down your hair."

She immediately reached up and undid whatever was holding her hair up. The curls - loosely waved - tumbled down around her arms. She looked similar to the way she had on Valentine's. It immediately caused a flame to ignite in his lower belly.

He unclasped his cufflinks. "What is your safe word?"

She fluffed her hair, arranging it in a way that his eagle-eyed gaze recognized to be nervousness. "Cupere. Seems fitting, yeah?"

She was so beautiful, with her oval face, big eyes, and parted red lips. Her collarbones, caressing her body and melting into her shoulders. The swell of her breasts and sternum, visible between the sloped black neckline of the gown. The cream of her leg, exposed by the slit of the dress.

And for now, she was all his.

"All right," he murmured, shrugging out of his blazer without looking away from her. "What does it mean, anyway?"

She looked up at him through long, curled lashes. "To long for something or someone."

Something that had been shifting inside of his core snapped into place, and all traces of his fear vanished. He was in control, the way he liked to be. The way he dreamed of being. Nothing and no one could hurt him here, in this place. No one could hurt her, either, as long as he was the one standing over her.

"Do you long for me, Granger?" he purred, cocking his head to the side as he loosened his tie.

She nodded, much quicker than he expected. "Yes."

He smirked. "What do you want me to do next?"

She held his gaze from her seat. "Aren't you supposed to decide that?"

Draco, who had been stalking toward her like a hungry wildcat, stopped in front of the chair. His hand shot out and gripped her by the chin. She sucked in her breath, her eyes widening as he pulled her to her feet and held her in place.

"Are you being cheeky?" he snarled.

"No," she said. Just as fast as her snark had entered the room, it left her. Her body went almost limp and he felt her sagging against him. "I'm sorry."

He hummed in acceptance of her apology and then let go of her chin. He repeated his earlier question.

"What do you want me to do next?"

She kept her gaze pointed downward. "Whatever you want."

Draco fought back the urge to groan at the implications of that statement.

"And if I wanted you on your knees?" He raised one eyebrow as he dropped his tie onto the ground.

She didn't answer, much to his surprise. She simply sank to her knees on the carpet. He saw the platform of her heels peeking out from the hem of her long dress, and it painted a sinful picture inside of his mind. He clenched his teeth against the urge to rip her dress off.

"Am I allowed to make requests?" Granger said.

Draco let out a short, surprised laugh. "Yes. You can make requests."

"What if I . . ." Her words were halting. She didn't seem to find the situation funny. She seemed incredibly serious. "What if I want to . . . Do things to you?"

Draco felt his world screeching to a complete halt. He sucked in his breath as rational thought left him. The sight of her on her knees in front of him, dressed to the nines, lips painted cherry in color . . . Like a lightning bolt, his hand was tangled in the wavy hair at the side of her head, pulling her up on her knees a bit.

"You're such a sweet girl to do that for me, precious," he murmured, caressing the outline of her face with his other hand, not caring how fast he'd lost his restraint. "Do you want me in your mouth?"

Her eyelids fluttered. "Yes. I do. Yes."

"Then pull down my trousers."

He watched in faint amusement as she unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, and started tugging them down over his hips. He walked backward, dragging her on her knees on the carpet until he was sitting in the chair.

Granger stared at him for a moment, her eyes wild. He realized without needing her to speak that she was hitting a blockade in her mind. He leaned forward, his hands on her elbows as he pressed his lips against her forehead. They grazed along her skin as he moved to whisper in her ear.

"Remember your safe word. All you need to do is say it."

She was quiet for a long time, during which he continued to kiss her ear, cheek, and temple. She took a shuddering breath and her arms moved. When Draco felt her slender fingers reaching for him, inside of his open trousers and pants, it took every fiber in his being not to rush her.

He would not make this an awful experience for her, especially if she found that she wasn't actually submissive.

And then his lips were sliding along her hair, because she was lowering her head.

The moment she tasted him, he felt the last of his sanity leaving him. He fell back against the chair, his hand stroking through her hair gently as she pleasured him. His mouth fell open and his thighs trembled from the amount of effort it took not to snap his hips upward. He didn't want to hurt her. Hurting her was the last thing he would ever want to do. She was his dream, his everything.

He didn't deserve this moment.

Draco held himself back as she got used to him, figuring out what she was comfortable doing and what worked for them both. He couldn't get words out as the feelings in his body overwhelmed him, the flame that had been ignited within him earlier being fanned by the sight of Hermione Granger submitting this part of herself to him.

She did something _Heavenly_ with her tongue, and it caused him to twist her hair. He hissed through gritted teeth.

"I need - I want to," he gasped, and it was almost a whine, "I need to fuck your mouth."

She lifted up to look at him, and there was something familiar in her eyes and in the way she was panting. Something he remembered from the Cupere. A desire that seemed to border on frenzy.

"I want you to come in it," she said in a sugary-sweet voice that he'd never heard her use before.

His eyes flashed and before he could stop himself, he dragged her by the hair until their lips crashed together. The kiss was by no means perfect, as it was rather wet and sloppy, but he didn't care. He kissed down into her mouth, tasting every corner of it. Claiming it for his own. She moaned into it, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair and pull him closer.

He pulled away to trail kisses down the side of her jaw. "You're so perfect. Such a good girl, Hermione."

She let out another moan. Her hands pressed his head closer to the sensitive skin of her neck. Skin that tasted as sweet as her lips. Their mouths latched onto one another's again, magnetized by lust and need. He almost pulled her into his lap.

But that was not what they had discussed, nor agreed to. They hadn't actually specified the details, so he was going to let her drive the moment. His heart wrenched as he pulled out of the kiss he yearned to be a part of so desperately. He stroked her hair behind her ears.

"How do I do it?" she asked, breathless with swollen lips. Her eyes were glassy in the mingling fire and starlight of the Library.

He was going _mental_.

Draco instructed her how to take all of him, gently coaxing her jaw open as far as was manageable with soft caresses and words of encouragement. She went as far as she could and then, when he thought he might lose the rest of his mind in one fell swoop, her lashes lifted. She looked up into his eyes with lust, passion, and desperation that he could hardly fathom.

Whatever space there was for her to fall into, she had tumbled headfirst into and was lost.

She was well and truly his now.

Draco gathered all of her hair in one hand and twisted, driving her head in its movements as he thrust to meet her lips.

"Fuck," he moaned, running his fingers through his hair . "Good girl. Good girl, Hermione. You're so - _fuck -_ precious. Yes. Yes, like that . . ."

His cries seemed to echo off of the walls and bookshelves and the charmed ceiling as he lost himself in his own dominance. As soon as he did, he knew he was going too far. Too fast and too hard. He almost stopped when she dug her fingers into his thighs, but in the next moment, she had doubled her speed and it was clear she had no intentions of ceasing.

He tried to push her away, just in case, but she held tighter to the fabric of his trousers and practically growled an " _mm-mm"_ sound in the back of her throat.

The vibrations were all he needed to shatter.

When he felt himself reaching the precipice, he twisted the strands of his own hair for a moment almost in distress and then ran his hand down his face. He couldn't hold onto his restraint any longer. Placing his feet flat on the floor and anchoring her head between both of his hands, he cried out and began to drive himself deep into her throat. She made a choking noise, but he was too lost in the inferno. He was so close.

"Breathe through your nose. Salazar, _fucking please_ , breathe through your nose," he whimpered, the words and pleas falling continuously from his lips like raindrops. He felt like he was about to cry, it felt that good, but he didn't have the energy to even do that. "You're gonna make me come, Hermione. Fuck. You're gonna make me - _Fuck_!"

And then he fell off of the edge of the cliff, into an intense orgasm that he had never before experienced, only made stronger by her pulling back and sticking her tongue out as if she'd been doing this for years. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but the thought of missing his chance to see himself on her face was criminal. Absolutely _criminal_.

Granger collapsed onto her calves on the ground, knees bent, her hands placed flat on the ground between her open legs. She looked like a million things were running through her mind, namely of which was confusion and terror.

Alarm snapped Draco out of his stupor. He was quick to _scourgify_ himself and her and right his clothing. Then, he pulled her by the elbows to the feet. She looked dumbstruck. Traumatized.

"Granger? Are you all right?" His gaze traveled all over her face, as though searching for something. "Are you okay? Why didn't you use your safe word?"

Finally, her gaze snapped to him.

"What . . . _Was_ that?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: All previous chapters have been proofread and edited, so if you want to do a re-read, now is the time before you dive into this story. I made some changes to the plot, to make things fit.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who read, followed, reviewed, and favorited Cupere. You have made this very enjoyable to write, and have been with me through some major life changes since the story began. What started out as a simple lust potion oneshot became something much greater, and I'm glad it could bring joy and healing to some of you.**

**If you would like to follow along with my other stories and my original work, receive email updates directly from me, put in story requests, see music playlists for my fics, and join the Facebook group, check out my website! Honeysweetwriting dot com**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

_Songs of the Chapter: Into the Dark - Point North, Waves of Nature - Willow, White Lies - I See Stars, Same Soul - PVRIS,_ and _Bouncy Castle - VUKOVI_

x

Draco recoiled from Hermione, feeling as though she'd just struck him.

"What was what?" he cried. "The entire situation, what we did, what I did, what?"

"What _was_ that?!" she screeched, throwing her hands up and then burying her face in her hands for a split second. "I couldn't . . . I didn't want to . . . I _don't know why I_ . . ."

"Granger, calm down! You're hyperventilating." He reached for her, concern twisting his features. She ripped herself away from him.

"What the fuck?" She kept breathing heavily, hugging herself. " _What_ the fuck?"

Draco felt confused and hated himself more than he ever had before. He'd never heard her curse before, so he knew something was seriously wrong. He didn't understand why he'd let himself lose control like that. Why had he -

Her incessant mutterings reached his ears.

"I don't understand. I don't understand why I feel like . . . What the _fuck_? Why did I _do_ that?"

Draco's eyes widened.

She was panicking _because she liked it_.

"Granger," he said. "You -"

"Don't talk to me!" she cried. "Don't _fucking_ talk to me."

Draco felt his anger rising. "Calm down! This is what the contracts are for! _This_ is what the safe word is for. Technically, right now we shouldn't be arguing. You need to be in a safe space, with me taking care of you. You can't let yourself stay in this - this _headspace_ that you're in. There are _rules_ , Granger, and when you go against them, I can't keep you safe!"

She glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. "Not even from you?"

"Not even from me." He glowered down at her. "That. Is. Why. There. Are. _Rules_."

She snorted in indignation, rage burning in her honey-brown eyes. "Oh, because you simply can't control yourself? Powerful Pureblood wizard, and you can't even control your prick."

The words were spat like poison. Draco had to remind himself that she was in a terrible place right now. She needed to be taken care of, to be embraced and soothed and calmed. This was all wrong. This panic and this anger - it was because she didn't realize that she'd just gone exactly where she was meant to go. She'd gotten the answer to her question. _She was submissive._

"Around you?" he said, one hand on his hip and the other dragging anxiously through his messy hair. "No."

She stared at him for a long, long moment. Longer than he felt comfortable with. Every second that passed was dangerous to her mental health and well-being. He took a step toward her, prepared to explain to her again why aftercare was so important, but she stopped him with a hand held up.

"It was only supposed to be one day," she said, her voice hard as flint. She'd completely blocked him out. "So perhaps we should leave it at that, and stop trying to make something out of nothing."

Draco sighed, exasperated. " _Granger_ -"

"Where's Crookshanks?" She put her hands on her hips. "I'd like to leave."

He stared at her, floored. How had they gone from the discussion they'd had, where she'd practically begged him for his help again, to having a row? She sounded like she never wanted to speak to him again. Before the encounter they'd just had, he would have accepted her anger. If they'd tried what they agreed to try, and she'd turned out to not be submissive, then he would gladly have taken his bow and exited her life if that's what she wanted. But he knew for a fact that she had not only _not_ used her safe word at any point, but when he'd attempted to push her away just in case she wanted to stop, she'd refused.

So then what was the problem?

Unless . . .

"Is the potion still in effect somehow?" he asked, horrified at the thought that its effects could last for so long.

She looked alarmed. "What? No!"

"Are you _certain_?"

She pulled a face of almost pure disgust, which was so out of character for her, that Draco almost felt like she was a completely different witch. "I'm certain. If it was still in effect, we wouldn't have been able to dance at the gala."

"Then what's the problem? Why didn't you use your safe word?"

She glared at him, her mouth half-open as she searched for an answer. "I don't . . ." A scoff. "That's not . . . Look. I would like to leave. Where is Crookshanks?"

She turned to leave. Draco felt the panic clawing its way up his throat. She was leaving and if she did, he just knew it would be the last time he ever spoke to her. If she walked out that door, with what had transpired between them since Valentine's, there would be no going back to the way things were before.

Draco sprang forward, reaching for her arm before she could go too far. The moment his fingers brushed against her elbow, she jerked her arm away and whirled to glower at him.

"No, don't _touch_ me! Where's my -"

"Granger, can't we just -"

"Where's my - stop. _Stop_ , Draco. Just leave me -"

Part of him wanted to let her go to spare himself the mortification. The other part knew that she was just trying to run away, and kept reaching for her. She threw her hands up, her shoulders hunching as though the thought of him touching her were abhorrent.

"The moment it gets tough," Draco hissed, his upper lip curling as he followed on her heels to the Library doors, "the moment things become real, you can't handle it, can you?"

"Where's my cat?" She sounded distraught, like she wasn't even herself anymore. Hermione Granger had left. All that remained was the girl he'd seen lying catatonic on the Drawing Room floor after Bellatrix was finished with her. Either she'd underestimated what it felt like to truly give up all control, or he'd fucked up.

His heart was breaking. He had to fix this.

"You can't leave. Granger -"

"I _said_ I am _leaving!"_ she screamed, her hair starting to look as wild as her eyes. " _Where_ _is my_ _cat_?!"

"How Gryffindor of you," Draco snapped, sneering. "You're doing Godric proud."

"Where is my cat? I want you to bring Crookshanks to me, and then I am going to _leave._ " She let out a strangled sob as she neared the door. "And I am not going to think about you ever again!"

Draco felt the bubble of agitation swell so large in his chest that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't let her leave. Not like this. Not like this.

"Don't fucking run from this!" he shouted, his voice echoing. "Don't run from me!"

"Don't follow me," she said with a mirthless laugh. "Don't you follow me, Draco Malfoy."

Draco reached her right as her hand was inches away from the handle to the ornate door. He grabbed her wrist and yanked, causing her to spin around to face him. Then, he lunged forward. Her back slammed into the wall and his hands smacked against the stone above her head. He bared his teeth in a feral manner, gazing down at her in a way that he desperately hoped pinned her in place. She merely glared up at him, and then she bared her teeth as well.

"Let me go home."

"You're _not_ leaving."

She narrowed her eyes. He watched them slide past him, to where he knew she'd accidentally left her little purse that she'd been carrying all night by the chair. "I'll _accio_ my wand."

"You won't," he challenged, leaning his head forward a bit. "You'll listen."

She pressed her lips together, her nostrils flaring with rage. "You can't control me."

"Except that I _can_ control you. The issue is that you're scared to let me."

She made a series of spluttering noises, nonsensical words that did nothing but prove him right. So he snatched his opening, keeping his hands planted firmly in a way that kept her boxed in.

"You went into the state of mind that is common for a submissive witch. It's _normal_ , Granger, to lose yourself to it. That's the _point_. And fuck, it's scary. It's terrifying. But that's what the safe word is for if it gets to be too much. And if it's something you _can_ handle, but you're left feeling _traumatized_ afterward, then it's a sign that you either aren't submissive, or you need _aftercare_."

She looked troubled and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't understand."

"Yes, you do. You're intelligent. You understand exactly what happened."

She turned her face away, appearing even angrier. "What is aftercare?"

"For lack of a better term, it's essentially glorified cuddling. Or whatever you need to feel safe and grounded again." He dipped his head down, catching her gaze and holding it with his own. He spoke in a pointed manner. "The point is to do whatever you need to help you calm down. You choose. Do you hear me? _You're_ in control at that point."

She eyed him, worrying her lower lip. Then, she wrinkled her brow. "You didn't tell me it was going to be like that. You didn't tell me I was going to feel so . . . Lost."

Draco shook his head. "Then that means I didn't do my job correctly. You're supposed to feel unchained, but not lost. You're supposed to know that giving up control is okay because the person who is in control - me, in this instance - is there to make sure you have guidance." He paused to sigh. "You got scared. So what? That's no reason to run."

"You don't understand," she whispered, lowering her head.

"I do understand." He removed one hand from the wall and used his knuckle to push her chin back up. He raised his eyebrows at her. "I understand that you're scared because after everything that I put you through, everything you _think_ you should feel for me, you still liked it. You're submissive to me. And I think it scares you because you thought it was just the potion. Admitting that it wasn't the potion - that it was you who was reacting to me the way you were that day - means admitting that you feel something for me that you think you shouldn't."

As she stared up at him, dumbfounded, Draco tried to figure out where he'd gotten the courage to say something so bold. He hadn't even been Occluding. He'd just been desperate to hold on to her for as long as he could. He was _still_ desperate to keep her.

"I think you've been terrified since the moment you decided you were going to come to me for help," he continued in a quiet tone.

She scowled. "This would be so much easier if you were the old you. If you were the Malfoy who made my life Hell, and not this . . . This _person_ you've become. This person who protects me and asks for permission and consent. This person who has rules, who - who has the ability to control me like this. So, yeah. Yes. I _am_ scared. But it's only because I've never been in that place before, that place where I could say the sort of things I've said to you, and do the sort of things I've done with you."

Draco said nothing, seeing that she was falling apart right before his eyes. He saw tears springing to her eyes, and he watched them falling down her cheeks. Even though he wanted to wipe them away, he refrained. He kept one hand planted firmly on the wall, the other at his side, and listened.

"I did what I wanted," she said, choking on her words. "I did what I liked. I let go with you. Yes, I liked it. I did like it. I didn't use my safe word because I didn't _want_ to. But how am I supposed to reconcile who I've always painted myself to be, with who I am when I'm with you? This would just be easier if you were the old Malfoy, because it's much more terrifying giving myself to Draco."

Draco felt his emotions welling up again. "You're scared because of who I used to be? Or who I am now?"

She wiped away her tears, clenched her teeth, and pointed at the armchairs. "I'm scared of me! Of who I was when I was over there. I don't know who that girl is. I just know that she feels terrified to not be the one calling the shots. She feels terrified to know that she's giving control up to the one person who she always thought would hurt her the worst. I feel," her voice broke, "scared to fall back into that place where I'm powerless and I like it."

Her words were contradictory. She was scared to submit to him, and yet she wanted to submit to the person who used to bully her. She wanted it to be a person who didn't make her feel something new, something so world-changing that it was impossible to ignore or explain away. The fact that she hadn't wanted to use her safe word or push him away was what scared her.

"I'm scared to want it," she whispered, as if on cue.

Draco's stomach twisted and he grabbed her chin again. " _Do_ you want it?"

He saw the barriers in her eyes beginning to crumble. "So badly. Every day since. It's all I can think about. I've never felt so - so _alive_ and so . . . _Balanced_. I can barely focus in class because I'm thinking about -"

Draco tightened his hold on her chin and guided her lips to his to silence her, pushing his tongue inside of her mouth to show her that no matter which version of him she got, his kiss would always remain the common denominator. He wanted to spell his affection for her with his lips, and he wanted it to be so undeniable that she understood there was nothing to be afraid of.

When he pulled away, he knew what he had to do.

He knew what she needed.

"You want the old Malfoy, so you can pretend you don't feel anything when it happens," he whispered in an almost taunting voice. "You want to know what it's like when he touches you, the person who used to terrorize the corridors. The person who caused you so much pain. Why?"

She frowned. "I don't know."

"Why, Hermione?"

"I don't _know_ ," she bit out. "I just know that I want it to be him."

He dug his fingers into her chin until she winced and her hand sprung up to wrap around his wrist. "Don't touch me. You know better."

She let go of him as though he were on fire, but still tried to pull her chin away.

He held on.

"You'd have better luck standing up to Draco than to Malfoy," Draco said with the sneer he used to wear whenever he looked at her or Potter or Weasley. He gave her a once-over, forcing his feelings for her behind a wall so he could give her what she craved.

"We'll see," she said. Her chest heaved with a weighted breath.

"You really want this?" he asked. "You really want him? You consent?"

"Yes."

"Then so be it." He let go of her chin so he could wrap his fingers around her throat. "Remember your safe word."

"I won't need it."

Without taking his eyes off of her face, he waved his free hand and wandlessly locked the door.

This time, when he snogged her, he did so with wild, forceful abandon. He pressed his body flush against hers, holding her against the wall so she couldn't leave even if she wanted to. He kept his hand wrapped around her throat so that she gasped between breaths. He kissed her the way he'd wanted to every time she made him angry since they'd met.

He pretended he was still Malfoy, and it was Sixth Year. He pretended he hated her, blamed her for everything bad that had ever happened, and everything bad that would happen. He pretended so that when he kissed her, it would bruise and she wouldn't be able to forget the taste of him on her lips.

She kissed him back with just as much zeal, pressing her throat against his hand and writhing her body in a way that told him this was exactly what she wanted him to do. She pulled his hair so hard that it caused his scalp to ache and his stomach to churn with a vicious desire to punish her for touching him.

Even though it wasn't the way he wanted things to be - even though Malfoy wasn't who he was anymore - he gave her what she wanted because she asked for it.

It was easy to slip back into his old skin. To Occlude so heavily that none of the real Draco remained, and to cloak himself in the mask that was Malfoy. He accessed his old memories, got into the bitter, hate-filled headspace he was in as a teenager. The one that had led him down the path of needing complete control in the first place.

Whirling them around, one hand in her hair and the other around her neck, he walked them backwards until they were at the chairs again. They continued to kiss violently, teeth nipping and biting at one another's lips. Finally, he tore his mouth away from hers.

"Sit," he ordered.

She sank to sit on the chair.

Draco stood there, panting for breath, furiously pushing his fingers through his tousled hair. His eyes scanned her body, trying to decide what he wanted to do. What _Malfoy_ would have done. What Malfoy had wanted to do to her for years.

To see if she was still a snotty know-it-all with his hand between her thighs.

"Is this what you wanted?" he snarled, throwing himself forward until one knee was beside her leg and his hands were on the arms of the chair. He knew his eyes were blazing with something that he'd bridled sometime after he realized he hated who he was. "You want the old Malfoy?"

She wet her lips, her eyes hazy with lust that hadn't quite been there earlier, when she was pleasuring him on this very chair. She'd already fallen into the space between submission and self-control, he could tell. She was careening down to the abyss and soon, all it would take was the right words to make her his.

"You answer my questions when I ask them, Granger," he growled, his hand gripping her hair and dragging her head so far back that the entire front of her neck was exposed. His other hand went directly to her core, which he cupped boldly through the slit in her skirt. "Do you want the old Malfoy?"

She cried out when he squeezed her throat, her eyes rolling up into her head and hips bucking.

"Yes," she said. "I want him. I need him."

"Then spread your fucking legs."

She did as she was told. Draco let go of her so he could grab the side of the skirt's cutout. A loud tearing sound rang out as he ripped it clear up to her under-bust, revealing the wire of her black strapless brasserie and her knickers. He didn't care; he'd buy her whatever she wanted, anyway. He pinned her by the neck to the chair and then slipped his fingers inside of her so fast that she screamed.

"You wanted him, well here he is, Granger," he taunted with a smirk as he set a brutal pace that had her entire body seizing up. His hair fell into his eyes, but he didn't care about that, either. There was no way he was letting up pressure on her throat without hearing that safe word. "You can come for Malfoy, can't you?"

When he felt her body starting to tremble, he pulled his fingers out of her and began to touch her at the apex of her thighs, where he knew she felt the most pleasure. Her back arched and she let out a mixture between a sob and a whimper, throwing her hands up to grip the edges of the chair back. Draco could make out barely-intelligible moans under her breath, but he paid them no heed.

"Put your feet on the chair by your arse," he said, not once stopping the swirling of his fingers.

Once again, she obeyed. After a couple of second, she began to close her legs for some reason unbeknownst to him. At this, he pressed down firmer on her throat, until her eyes flew open and no sounds came out of her throat.

"Open those legs, witch," he chided, slowing his pace and watching as her eyelids fluttered.

Slowly, with jerky movements, she did. He let up pressure so she could suck in air. She looked up at him with a pitiful, pleading expression.

"I'm close, Malfoy."

Rage filled him and he leaned down close to her. He slid his hand up the column of her neck, until his fingers pushed her jaw upward.

"Don't you _fucking_ dare."

She whimpered and he felt her hips squirming.

"I need to -"

"No," he said, voice firm. "You think Malfoy would let you come? You honestly think he would let you have _anything_ you wanted?"

"I can't . . ." She bit her lip and whimpered, her hips jerking again. He refused to relent or stop touching her. "I can't hold it, Malfoy. Please. _Please_."

"No. This is what you wanted. You said this would be easier." He let go of her throat, listening to her suck in a deep breath. Then, he gripped the flesh of her thigh and held it open, switching up the speed of his fingers from slow to fast and back again.

Hermione threaded her fingers through her hair, as though in distress, and then she placed her hands on the arms of the chair to brace herself. Her toes curled around the front edge of the chair's cushion. The lewd sight of her like this, clad in a torn dress, her lipstick smudged from all their snogging and earlier activities . . . It was almost enough to make him want to let her.

But that wasn't what Malfoy would have done.

"Hold it," he warned when he saw her chest stuttering.

"I'm trying," she whined, gazing up at him through lidded eyes. "I'm trying, I swear. I _swear_."

Then, he dipped his hands inside of her and drew them back out again to touch her pearl. The moment he did, she threw her head back and sobbed aloud.

"Gods, _fuck_ , Malfoy! _Please_! I can't - I can't hold it!"

"No," he said again, his tone almost soothing. Her hand reached for his wrist, as if to push it away, and he let out a laugh. "Don't you even _think_ about it."

"Please," she sobbed. "Please, no more."

"Say your safe word."

She whimpered again. Her palm smacked against the arm of the chair and then dug into the upholstery. "Malfoy, please, please. _I can't_ -"

"What's your safe word? Say the safe word, and this ends."

She looked at him, and he raised one eyebrow, slowing his movements until they were torturous and gentle. Her eyes widened.

"No, please. Please, if you do that, I -" She covered her face with her hands and Draco knew she was at her limit. "I'm gonna come. I'm gonna . . ." It trailed off into a low, keening moan.

"Do not," he growled. "Tell me who you really want, and I'll let you."

She didn't need any convincing. The moment she screamed the words he wanted to hear, he felt the mask that was Malfoy slipping. He stopped Occluding and felt the flames within him swelling until they consumed him.

He'd never wanted her more.

"Draco," she wailed. "You're Draco. I want Draco."

"You're such a good girl," he cooed as he leaned forward further, dipping his head to kiss the side of her throat. He sat down beside her in the chair, cuddling up to her as he prepared for what was about to happen.

The moment he felt her shifting into his lap, he felt her entire body seizing and shuddering violently. She promptly burst into tears of shock, still moaning as her orgasm ripped through her. She kept one hand gripped to the chair arm, but her other arm came up to wrap around the front and side of his neck. Her fingers pretty much tore at his hair, but he did his best to ignore it so she had something to hold onto as she rode the waves.

"It's okay," he chanted as she came down. "You're okay. You're safe. Who do you see?"

"Malfoy," she sobbed, her head lolling back on his shoulder.

"Shh, shh," he soothed, kissing the side of her head and cradling her close. He stroked his fingers down her arms and hair. "Count to three, and then tell me who you see when you close your eyes."

"I see you," she said, pulling her legs up into the chair and his lap.

"Good girl," he whispered against her hair.

Draco wrapped his arms around her and held her, the two of them sitting curled up in the armchair. They listened to each other's breaths and the crackling of the fire. Draco chose to stare up at the false sky above. Granger burrowed her head into his chest.

When he thought back to Valentine's Day, he hadn't thought he'd ever even be her friend, let alone whatever _this_ was. Yet here he was, weeks later, and they were cuddling in a chair in his family Library. He felt strange. They'd already gone over everything they possibly could and now, what was left?

For the first time in a long time, Draco felt unsure of what to do next. He'd spent his days moping about, brooding, and thinking about how much he hated himself. But now, he was so stuffed up with the confusion he felt surrounding his situation with Granger, that it felt like there was no room leftover for him to pine anymore. Which was a good thing, when he thought about it.

He just didn't know where they stood.

They had never been friends. Sure, they'd gotten to a point where they could work together in class with mild bickering, but they were not friends. Now, Draco was going to have to figure out what they were supposed to do.

As he sat there, arms enveloping her faintly-trembling body, he realized that he would rather die than go back to the way things were before the Cupere.

"I wouldn't change any of it," he murmured.

She rose and fell with the rise of his own chest. She stirred and Draco realized that she'd dozed off. Her voice was muffled in his shirt.

"Hm? Change any of what?"

"The past," he said.

"That's easy for you to say."

"I didn't . . ." Panic. "I just mean . . ."

She sighed, sounding tired. "I know what you meant, Draco."

Feeling a bit chastised, he bit his lip and tried to think of a different way to word how he felt. He didn't know how, not without facing the ultimate rejection. So instead, he refocused his attention on her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Do you need anything? Water? Or food?"

"No," she mumbled.

Draco felt a pang of worry ring out in his body. "Are you tired?"

"No."

He started to play with her hair, absentmindedly pushing the strands over her shoulders. They were lighter than they looked, and as soft as the velvet of her torn dress. He knew he should probably fix it, but he didn't want to.

"So," he said, "have you gotten enough _research_ done to make your decision?"

She didn't answer at first. At some point, she spoke again. "I think I'm submissive."

Draco fought the urge to smirk on pure reflex. "All right. And what do you want to do about that?"

"I haven't the slightest clue."

"You sound sad."

"I am."

Draco frowned. "Why?"

"Because I don't have any idea who I am anymore."

The crackling of the fire washed over them, and Draco spent the next minute or so racking his brain for what to talk about. He was slowly becoming accustomed to the feeling of her in his arms, and the way their bodies were positioned in the chair in a way that felt so compact. So . . . Close. He couldn't remember ever feeling closer to another person. It just hurt him all the more knowing that no matter how good it felt to be near her, he didn't deserve a single second of her time. He didn't deserve an inch of her body.

He pulled his feet all the way onto the cushion and sank deeper into the chair, causing her to rest her full weight on his body. His arms tightened around her and his fingers found their resting place in her hair.

If this night was all he had, he wanted to memorize the way this felt.

"Perhaps it would help," she said, "if you explained to me what is supposed to happen next."

"Well," he replied, "typically, we would create an agreement. A contract. And we would agree upon what we were comfortable with engaging in, sign it in some way, and then adhere to it."

"Like a business proposal?" She shifted, adjusting her head so that it lay more comfortably on his chest and shoulder. "That sounds so . . . Emotionless."

He chuckled, adjusting his own head against the arm of the chair. He'd never sat sunken so far down on an armchair before. His prim, proper father would have a heart attack if he saw them curled up this way with their feet on the upholstery.

"This sort of thing doesn't exactly employ the processing of emotions. It's about mutual mental and physical satisfaction within the boundaries of a safe, consenting agreement."

"Should I be writing this down?" she said, and her somber tone almost made him miss the fact that it was a joke.

"I dunno. Do you feel like you should be?" He tucked her head under his chin.

"I dunno. Do you want me to be writing it down?"

Draco felt the spark of a challenge between them. "This is going to go in circles, Granger."

She sighed and sat up by holding onto the top of the chair back, looking down at him with tousled hair and smeared make-up. She looked wrecked, but he adored it.

"I just don't want to sign a contract without knowing what I'm getting myself into. I would much rather you ease me into it over time."

"How?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "We should spend more time together so we can learn if this is something we really want."

Draco's gaze flitted about her face as his brow furrowed. "Do you mean . . . You'd like us to . . . Date?"

She looked into his eyes. His heart beat a wild pattern in his chest as he waited for her response.

Finally, she said, "Admitting that would be very difficult for me."

Draco looked down at the way their bodies were tangled together. He felt a small tinge of bitterness. This was why he felt he didn't deserve her. Because she was terrified of him in some way, and that was why she was so apprehensive to enter into an agreement with him that would tie them together inexplicably. There wouldn't have to be an uncontrollable reason like the Cupere for them to be in each other's lives; it would be contractual. She'd have to admit to herself that she'd wanted him badly enough to sign a contract.

It hurt to hear it, to hear that admitting she wanted to date him caused her conflict. That she had some sort of interest in him, but she felt that it would be too hard to admit it. Even if it was the result of his poor treatment of her in the past, he still had a heart. He still felt like he was falling off of his broom for her.

It still _hurt_.

Before he could stop himself, he felt his wounded pride speaking for him.

"Why is it so difficult? Why can't we just," he sat up, too, causing her to have to pull herself up to sit on the chair arm, "let go of the past? I've apologized, you've forgiven me, and we've agreed to at least be friends. Why do we have to spend time over-complicating the fact that we want to be in each other's lives?"

She reached out to smooth her fingers through his likely-unruly hair. He tried to ignore the shiver that ran downward through his body.

"Do _you_ want that?" she asked.

He stared at her, not knowing what to say. Of course he did. He'd take being her _acquaintance_ over not being able to look at each other because they'd had so many intimate encounters and were never able to overcome outside opinion. He just wanted her in his life.

"Just because I'm a coward," he muttered, "doesn't mean we have to live the lives of cowards."

"You're not a coward," she said. "Yes, you've made mistakes, but that's what makes you a human being, Draco. Humans get frightened sometimes and when they do, they make poor choices. You've just made some poor choices. But you've also done good things. That means something to me."

"So then why is it so difficult to imagine being with someone like me?" he said, raising his voice slightly. It was hard not to feel offended, even though he hated himself. But what was more difficult was dissecting the offense. Did he feel defensive because he wanted to defend himself? Or because she was the one passing the judgment?

"That would imply that there's feelings in the first place. Do you have feelings for me?"

Draco didn't know how to answer her. He had never before been this vulnerable with another person, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He didn't want to tell her he had them, only to have her laugh in his face.

He started to speak, but then he felt something fluctuate within his magic. Someone was nearing the wards he'd placed to warn him of intruders to the Library. He stood up.

"I don't know, but I don't think we should keep discussing this here. We should table it."

She pouted. "Can't we just go somewhere more private? Couldn't we go to your room?"

He felt his heart skip a beat. Granger. Alone with him in his bedroom.

 _That_ would be difficult for _him_.

"Yes," he said in a cautious voice. "I suppose we could."

"Then, let's go," she said. "Tabling it isn't a good idea. We should finish the discussion now, while we're both amenable to discussing the topic."

After Draco fixed her dress, Granger gathered up his blazer and her purse. He reached his hand out and the moment she took it, he Disapparated them.

* * *

When they Apparated into his bedroom, Draco had already worked himself into a temper.

It was one thing to hate himself, but it was another thing entirely to have to keep dealing with the experiences that made him fall so deep into the pit of his self-loathing. He knew he'd been a bully when he was younger. He knew that he'd fought on the Dark Lord's side of the war. He knew he'd almost killed Dumbledore. And he hated himself for all of those things.

But did he have to endure being reminded constantly of the fact that he was worthless?

If she really, truly felt like it was so difficult to imagine being with him, then why had she agreed to be his date to the gala? Why had she asked him for his help with the Cupere if all she could stand was one day with him? What was the bloody point of everything they'd done together in the Library? The Gryffindor common room? The corridor outside the Room of Requirement? The hut? So many places that they'd been intimate, and she couldn't imagine being with him without feeling like it would be too "difficult to admit?"

 _Why_?

As Granger wandered about the room, touching his things and taking in the green and black decor, he found himself perched on the edge of his bed with no desire to even breathe. He wastrash. No one wanted to be around him, to be _with_ him, and that was why he was trash.

"Look," she said, coming to sit beside him on the bed. She faced him with one leg curled underneath her on the mattress. "I didn't mean to sound so rude in the Library. I was -"

"Save it," he hissed. "You don't need to explain why you don't feel that way for me."

She sighed and started to reach for him. He panicked. He didn't want her touching him. Not anymore. Not if she was using him. He snatched her hand out of the air by the wrist.

" _Watch_ your hands, Granger."

"Oh, so I don't agree to date you, and now I'm not allowed to touch you anymore?" she said with a scowl.

He glared down at her. "This has nothing to do with you rejecting me. But I'm glad to know that you think I'd sink so low."

"Well, you're the one who's acting like a churlish, brooding _prat_!"

He got to his feet, his anxiety driving him to pace a few steps away. "I'm sorry. It must be so _difficult_ for you to imagine going on a date with me and having to deal with my _churlish_ attitude."

"Draco!" she cried, looking offended.

Draco whirled on her, glaring daggers in her direction. "Forgive me, Granger, but am I not allowed to have emotions, too? It's been all about you so far, but have you ever stopped to ask me how I'm doing? To ask me how I'm feeling?"

She looked stricken, her mouth hanging open. "I didn't think it mattered."

Her honesty sliced into his heart. He nodded slowly. "You didn't think it mattered."

A guilty expression crossed her face and she started to stand.

"No, no," he said, enraged and wounded. "Sit back down. You can have my bed. Better yet, take my room. Take my mother. Take the whole _fucking_ Manor, since everything's about you and it's so bloody _difficult_ for you to have to reconcile the fact that you like the idea of _fucking_ me with the fact that I'm an evil, wicked person."

He'd lost his grip on his emotions. He couldn't hold them in anymore and now that he realized what was going on with him, he realized exactly what was bothering him about this whole thing.

Granger needed an entire _existential crisis_ to cope with the fact that she liked him.

On what planet would that not hurt a wizard's feelings?

"Draco Malfoy, that is _not_ what this is about!"

Now he understood why she'd tried to leave the Library earlier. He understood what it was like to become so overwhelmed by his emotions that he wanted nothing more than to escape. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

"Then tell me what it's about," he said icily. "Don't worry. I'll wait."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Stop acting like this. Stop it."

"Do you like me, then?" he asked, eyebrows shooting upward. "Do you? Because with the amount of times I've made you come, you'd think you'd know by now."

Her glare was as hot as the fires of Hell. "Don't you hold that over my head."

"I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to do. I'm not holding it over your head that I had to help you, nor am I even asking for a fucking thank you. I'd just like to know if you like me. You can answer that. I am _asking_ you to answer the question."

Her mouth opened to speak and she took a breath, but then let out a frustrated sound. "That's not - I can't - This isn't -"

And as she stood there, looking as though she'd just been hit by a Bludger, the answer came tunneling towards him like a speeding _bombarda_ spell.

"You're just scared to be loved by someone who doesn't want anything from you," he said, leaning down to hiss into her face. "You're scared because you like me, but you're used to liking people who like the way you do things for them. I don't need you to do a damn thing for me, and _that's_ what scares you the most."

She stared up at him, appearing horrified.

"What do you mean . . . Loved by someone?"

He felt the panic growing again as he realized what he'd just admitted, and he turned away from her. He hadn't meant to say it. He didn't even know if he meant it. He didn't know _how_ he could mean it when their interactions in the grand scheme of time were so limited. Bullying, her torture at the Manor, in front of the Wizengamot, school encounters, and one day while under the influence of a lust potion was not enough time to fall in love with someone.

But even as he tried to rationalize the accidental slip of the tongue, he knew he'd known it for years. He'd crushed on her since the first moment he laid eyes on her, and he fell for her spirit not long after that. The Cupere had only shed light on feelings he'd been allowing to poison him with his inability to see his own worth.

He couldn't tell her why he loved her because the fact that he was delusional enough to think that someone as perfect as her could ever be pulled down to his broken level in Hell made him want to hurt himself.

"This is a waste of time," he spat out. "Everyone in the entire wizarding world can take one look at you, another at me, and know that I don't fucking deserve you. I've done horrible things and the fact that I even entertained the thought that we could be something together is exactly the reason why this entire thing was a mistake. I don't regret helping you with the Cupere, and I don't regret using an Unforgivable on Richter, but I regret ever letting myself think I deserved to be happy after what I've done."

Silence. His ears rung in the absence of the sound of his own voice. He hung his head, focusing on the carpet. He'd told her everything there was to tell, and now? There was nothing he could do but wait for her response.

"Do you want to know why I _really_ chose you to help me out that day?" Granger said, her voice a quiet storm.

Draco did not turn back around. "You've told me three times now why you picked me."

"And three times, I didn't tell you the whole reason."

His stomach flipped. "What?"

She spoke, and the words crashed down like a waterfall without stopping.

"My friends, as much as I love them, do not know the real me. After what happened to me at the Manor, they had no clue how to help me. I had about five seconds to stuff the trauma down so we could get back to hunting for Horcruxes. I have had to suffer through night terrors, flashbacks, and panic attacks ever since. No one has ever asked me how I cope with that day. And I am lonely.

"But you're different. You had everything to lose, and you risked it all just to use Legilimency on me because temporary relief was better than experiencing it full force. You hated me before that. As far as you knew, I hated you. What you did was not self-serving. You did something that only a lonely person would do. Someone who was surrounded by people who didn't care that you were suffering.

"So when I went to you for help, the real reason why I chose you was because I knew you were just as lonely I was. I didn't want to have to suffer through it alone. To this day, you are the _only_ person who knows what I went through that day, and you are the _only_ person that I trust with the sides of myself that no one else but you has ever cared to see.

"And I am not a submissive person. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet somehow, I'm submissive to you. And now I know why."

At this, Draco cast a glance over his shoulder at her. Her eyes were bright, even though the self-lighting lanterns in his room were dim. He could not look away.

He didn't want to.

"I would never and will never submit to anyone else. I can submit to you, Draco, because I feel safe with you. I wanted to submit to the old Malfoy because he represents the person who had everything to lose, and risked it all for me." She gestured to herself, her voice gaining in conviction as the sentence developed. "You're the only one who does what's best for me. Everyone else wants something from me. But you?" She let her hands fall to her side in a show of helplessness, her facial expression resigned. "You want things _for_ me."

Draco didn't understand why his throat hurt so badly, nor why his heart was beating so fast. He didn't understand why he wanted to cry. She walked towards him, and he turned to face her as she did.

"I feel like I can submit to you because you deserve it. You have _earned_ the right to have control over me."

Draco felt like she had ripped his ribcage open, reached inside, and yanked his heart out. It felt like she was squeezing it, watching it thud and pound desperately. His blood was pooling on the metaphorical floor, and he couldn't stand anymore. His ears were burning.

Hermione Granger was the only person he'd let crush his heart to dust if it meant she was the one holding it.

He sank to his knees and hung his head, feeling the weight of his father's sins and his own pressing him downward. Hermione stood in front of him, her arms wrapping around his head to hug him close to the velvet fabric of her extravagant gown.

"It was only supposed to be one day," she said.

He didn't want to hear it. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve anything good.

"Stop," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that had welled up.

How could one person hold so many emotions inside of their body? He felt like a hurricane was tearing through his heart, shredding him into millions of worthless pieces. He couldn't handle hearing her words.

"It took me one day to realize that I don't want only one day with you," she said.

Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight. He felt like the hurricane was going to whisk him away. Away from Hermione. Away from solace. From peace.

" _Stop,"_ he begged.

A tear escaped the confines of his closed eyelids and he knew he was done for. This was everything he'd been dreaming of hearing for so long, yet it was burning his ears from the inside out to hear it. He wasn't good for her. He would never be good for her.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling his head back so that his face was turned up to look at her. Her thumbs swept the trails of sorrow aside and she offered him a small, simple smile.

"You are not the villain of our story, Draco. You never were."

Draco's chin began to tremble. Her hands were petal-soft against his cheeks.

He felt held.

_No, no, no. I don't, I don't, I don't, I -_

"You deserve me."

Draco grabbed her by the forearms and dragged her down to the ground with him. He cupped her face and pulled her into a passionate, heated kiss that sizzled lines of fire all the way down to his toes. She straddled his lap, tilted her head to the side, and deepened their kiss until he no longer knew or cared who was who. Her hands were in his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp and eliciting faint moans of bliss from his chest. She arched her back as his hands slid up her sides.

This was not the first time they had snogged, but it felt like the one time he'd never forget.

"What am I to you?" she whispered above him. For the first time, she didn't look confident. She looked nervous. Unsure. She'd just spelled it all out for him, and even though he wasn't as eloquent as her, she needed to know how he felt, too.

This was it. All of the pining and self-flagellation that he'd lost himself to all year, and she'd just found him with a speech to rival the word of the Gods. She'd reached into the darkness and dragged him out underneath a sky sparkling with stars that she'd placed herself. None of it mattered anymore. The sleepless nights. Hating himself so much that he sometimes thought of dying. Thinking he wasn't good enough.

One person thought he was enough.

He didn't bother to clear the fresh tears from his vision as he let out a hoarse, cracked sob. All the words he wanted to say - all the things he'd felt and suffered through in his life - and he could only manage to sum it all up with a single word.

"Everything."

Hermione smiled and then promptly burst into tears. Draco had no idea what the reason was, whether it was from the sheer intensity of the moment or from happiness, but he didn't have time to wonder at it. She kissed him again and he took control with immediate, pressing need. His heart, the heart that belonged to her, ravaged the cavern of his chest. It was though it were trying to burst through his skin and reach her.

Draco wrapped his arms around her body and stood up, turning to deposit her horizontally onto his bed. He began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes scouring the body that he had every intention of claiming. The body that he hoped would belong to him for as long as she would have him. She scrambled up onto her knees, breathing heavily from the exertion of their earlier kiss. The warmth of her torso leaned against him as her small fingers assisted him with his shirt, and then pushed the open sides of it back until it came off of his shoulders.

He sucked in his breath when her touch skated along the length of his Sectumsempra scar, and he fought the urge to warn her about touching him. He loved her. Draco _loved_ Hermione, and if anyone could touch him, it was her. He _wanted_ her to touch him. He wanted her hands all over him, memorizing the planes, dips, and hollows of his skin. He wanted to do the same to her.

He wanted _her_.

"Tell me to stop this," he said, and he felt his tears cooling on his cheeks. "Tell me to stop, Hermione."

She shook her head and pressed kisses to the ridged, warped flesh of the scar. His head fell back as her tongue tasted wherever her lips traversed, and his fingers tangled in her hair. Shaking all over, he pulled up all of his resolve to keep himself from snapping into the darkest side of him that he had.

"Tell me to stop this, or I'm gonna fuck you right here on my bed."

As she ran her tongue up the center of his chest, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Fuck research," she said before her lips grazed his jawline. They brushed his earlobe. "I want you."

Draco's sanity snapped like the crashing of a tsunami against the sand.

"If we do this - if you give me your consent, there's no going back," he said, eyes ravenous as he took in her lustful disposition. He gripped her by the hair at the back of the head. "If we do this, you're mine."

"I'm yours." she said, shrugging her shoulders. "You have my consent."

Draco lifted his chin and gazed down his nose at her. "Take off your dress."

Hermione did so, with him watching the entire time. She pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the floor beside him. She seemed to have no qualms about revealing her knickers and brassiere to him. He wet his lips like a man in the desert, his hand pressing firmly against her shoulder until she got the hint to lay on her back.

"Do you realize that I can do a _multitude_ of things to you before ever even being inside of you, Granger?" he said, his voice coming out in a dangerous purr as he stood over her.

She pulled herself up onto her elbows, looking for all the world like a starved wildcat. Before she could say anything, Draco grabbed her thighs and dragged her until her rear balanced the edge of the bed. She stared at him, wide-eyed, as he dropped to his knees on the floor between her legs. He hooked his hand under her right knee and lifted it up until it was near his lips.

"What are you -"

"Things you've only _dreamed_ about," he said, interrupting her. "Things you probably wanted me to do to you when you were under the influence of the potion."

He kissed the inside of her knee and began to work his way up, higher and higher. He could hear her heavy breaths catching in her throat the closer he got to her center. When he nipped her inner thigh with his teeth, right beside the elastic of her knickers, she cried out.

"I can do anything I want with you, can't I, precious?" he murmured, his eyes boring into her from when he currently presided. Her hips jerked forward, an involuntary movement that caused his nose to brush against her. Another cry echoed into the dimly-lit room.

"Anything," she moaned, still propped up on her elbows, looking down at him. "Do whatever you want. Please."

"I _can_ do anything," he groaned, and he enjoyed that fact. He ran the tip of his tongue along her skin, right at the very top of her thigh, as far as he could go. When she tried to move her body towards him further, to get him where he knew she wanted him, his hand shot up to press flat on her pelvis.

He used his other hand to hold her knickers aside. His head spun. This was the first time he was doing what he _really_ wanted to do with her. The knowledge that she cared about him - _really_ cared about him - was all he needed to know to desire making this moment a memory she never had cause to let go of. Her legs widened and her feet came to rest on his thighs. He knew she was anticipating what was to come.

"Anything from holding it back," he said, the heat of his breath upon her flesh causing her to whimper, "to never stopping."

Draco pressed his mouth to her core, tasting her, teasing her, and drawing moans out of her mouth that he'd committed to memory. Her hips writhed and bucked, causing him to feel the need to hook his arms underneath the backs of her thighs and hold her down. The moment he did, he felt her sitting upright and tugging at his hair in desperation.

"Please," she gasped. "Please, let me go. Let me move."

He pulled back the tiniest of amounts. He pressed a tiny kiss to her. "Safe word."

With a cry of frustration, she swooned backward until her head hit the blanket. He smirked into her and resumed his sinful ministrations, working her into a frenzy. He could feel her trying to writhe, but he was much too strong for her. And so she could only find other ways to voice her desire. It was in the way she brought her hands to his head and caressed it. It was in the way her toes curled into the fabric of his trousers and used his legs as an anchor to press herself closer to his mouth. It was in the stuttering heave of her chest and the violent trembling in her thighs. It was in the wretched wail that left her lips and caused a stirring in his own loins, and enabled him to care not a single iota for the fact that she was tugging at his hair in clumps.

He pulled back. "Has anyone ever tasted you, Granger?"

She shook her head frantically, her eyes hazy and shrouded in dreams. "Keep going. Please don't - don't stop."

He hummed his acceptance and used the fingers of one hand to pleasure her while he spoke.

"Tell me what I want to hear, or you'll have a repeat of what happened in the Library," he said, his words coming out in a coo.

"How do I -" She stopped to moan his name as he switched to soft, barely-noticeable touches, which he knew she responded to best. "How do I know what you want me to say?"

"You know what I want you to say, precious," he chided. He kissed her thigh. The thigh that belonged to him. "Admit it, or I won't let you come."

She looked confused.

"Admit the truth."

She averted her eyes, so he stilled the movements of his right hand. With his left, he pressed even firmer on her pelvis, so that she had no chance of moving. She glowered at him, but he could tell that she was blushing.

"I like you," she mumbled.

He smirked. "I'm gonna tell you what you're going to do, Hermione. You're gonna come for me. You're gonna make yourself come on my tongue so I can taste you, and you're gonna tell me how good you are."

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will."

Draco used the flat of his tongue, gentle in the way it moved. She whined and ground herself against it, chasing her release exactly the way he'd asked her to. She really was good, and she followed orders like nobody's business. He supposed he should have expected nothing less than that from Hermione Granger. It wasn't long before she was shuddering, and he knew she was close.

She sat up, placing one hand on the mattress and one on top of his head as she drove her hips up to meet the strokes of his tongue.

"I'm so good for you," she groaned, causing a warm feeling to swell in his chest. " _Oh, Gods -_ I'm so, so good. I'm g-gonna come. I - _Draco_!"

She screamed and crested rather suddenly, quite violent in the way she did so. She fell back on the bed again, bouncing slightly as she hit the mattress. He held her in place as he worked her through it, barely minding when her legs wrapped around his head to hold him close. When she'd finally stilled, he let her knickers snap back into place.

Draco knew he would never tire of this. He would do this over and over again, just like he had the day this all began, if only to hear her tell him how it felt with that sweet voice of hers.

He kissed his way up her body until their lips met. She surprised him with the amount of passion and need there was behind her returned kiss. He felt momentarily concerned that he might not be able to keep up with her. She hooked her ankles behind his lower back and dragged him firmly against her, hugging her arms around the back of his neck so tightly that he could do nothing except allow his body to lay flush against hers.

They snogged for a long time, moving to different parts of the bed as their lips traveled all over each other's faces, necks, and shoulders. At one point, Draco found himself on his back beneath her as she scraped her teeth across his pulse. At another, Draco pinned her on her stomach beneath him, sucking the flesh at the back of her neck whereupon he discovered it was quite possibly the most sensitive spot on her body.

Their hands felt every inch of bare skin that they could. Hermione herself removed her brassiere to expose herself to him without hesitation. He kissed her there, too, for as long as he could until she was wanton beneath him again. In the next moment, his trousers were discarded and he wore nothing but his pants.

"Oh, fuck, you're so - _Salazar,_ " he said when his fingers found her core and delved deep inside of her. He wanted to feel every inch of her body, and he meant it. Even this part of her belonged to him now. "I _have_ to make you come again."

Her eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of pleasure he gave her with his fingers as he used both hands to touch the inside andoutside of her core. He was wicked inside and gentle outside with her body, just as he was as a person. She responded with zeal, her mouth open in a perpetual, neverending moan as he once again brought her hurtling through seas of euphoria.

"Be a good girl, Hermione," he groaned as he coaxed it out of her. "Be a good girl if you want me inside you."

Still trembling, she reached for him. He noticed that there were tears in her eyes.

Worried, he grabbed her and pulled her to straddle his lap. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she was already pulling him into another mind-bending kiss by the cheeks. And when she pulled back to whisper a wandless contraceptive charm, it was the answer he needed.

Draco and Hermione's eyes met as she lifted herself up onto her knees. She placed light hands on his narrow shoulders. He put his hands on her hips and held her at bay. He'd never wanted anything more in his life, but he had to be sure. He looked directly into her eyes with all of the love he held in his heart for her, even if he didn't quite understand how deep it ran or how it came to be.

"I'm sorry that I fucked up so badly that night here at the Manor," he said. "If I had the chance to do it all over, I would protect you. That's the reason why I said yes to helping you with the potion. Because I wanted to protect you."

She smiled at him, and it was the most genuine smile she'd ever given him. This smile belonged to no one. Not her friends, not the professors, not anyone. It was his.

"Thank you," she said. "I forgive you."

Something about the way she said it solidified everything. It was the final step. The cherry atop the sundae. Every choice he'd made in the past, everything they'd ever said to each other, every encounter they'd ever had. From First Year to Third to Fifth to now. As hard as the path had been, it led them to each other, and he was certain that he wanted her.

"Are you certain you want me, Hermione?"

She raised one eyebrow, pushed her hand down between them, and gripped him firmly in her hand. He gritted his teeth.

"Yes," she whispered, and then she lowered herself onto his length with slow, precise movements of her hips.

Their gazes remained connected as twin moans drifted out of their mouths, mingling in the air like stardust from two colliding stars. He felt her, surrounding him, giving herself to him, taking from him whatever he could give. It was everything. _Everything_.

His thoughts began to scatter, leaving behind the primal side of his desire. His heart burst.

Draco threw caution to the window, dug his fingers into her hips, and held her in place as he finally - _blessedly_ \- claimed her for his own. She threw her head back, allowing him the space to be able to bury his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder to stifle his own sounds. They danced, moving together and apart like they had at the gala earlier that evening. Only this time, neither of them were terrible at it.

"Such a good girl," he mumbled into her skin. "So good. So fucking good."

"Draco," was all she seemed able to say, her fingers running up the back of his neck to twine in his hair. "Draco."

"Come for me like this, precious," he begged, desperate for whatever she could give. "Please, Hermione. I need to feel you - _fuck_ \- I need you to -"

She pressed her lips to his in a frenzied kiss as she crested. Keening noises drifted from the depths of her throat, trapped between their joined mouths, and she arched her back into him. He fucked her through her orgasm, pounding up into her hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

Suddenly, she leaned down and kissed his scar, like she had earlier. He felt his skin rippling beneath her touch, the bubble of panic in his chest growing again. He didn't know if he liked this. He was afraid of what would happen when his emotions overwhelmed him.

"Hermione," he said, slowing the pace of his thrusts. "Don't -"

"Focus on me," she whispered, interjecting. She removed one hand from his hair and caressed his pectoral. He watched as she focused on the scar, studying it.

"It's ugly," he blurted out, the panic causing his blood to creep towards a familiar boiling hatred for himself.

"No," she murmured, rolling her lips lazily against his. She tossed her long hair back and held her arm up beside them.

There it was. Her scar. The physical representation of everything he had done to hurt her when they were growing up, commemorated forever in flesh with a dark curse that could never be healed or reversed. He felt sick to his stomach.

He couldn't tear his eyes off of it.

"I'm sorry," he said.

" _No_ ," she repeated, and then she placed her other hand flat on his chest. "This scar is as much a part of me as your scar is a part of you. Just like your Dark Mark. Just like the birthmark I have on my ankle. Do you care if I have scars?"

He shook his head, one of his hands sliding up her spine.

"And I don't care about yours." She wrapped her right arm around his neck; her left hand gripped his chin. She began to move up and down, and Draco felt the flames of lust within him escalating. The fire warred with his emotions.

She didn't care about his scars. She wanted _him_.

"Do you want me to come again?" she asked, in that same sugar-sweet tone that she'd used with him earlier that night.

The fog in his mind hung heavy, oppressive and keeping him focused only on her. He wet his lips, hungry for it, and nodded.

"Yeah."

"Do you want me to be a good girl for you?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of her body. He moaned.

"Yeah."

"Make me."

Suddenly, Hermione shoved him onto his back and took charge. Draco, who had never before been with a witch who'd done so, found himself unable to do much more than curse and grip her thighs as she took what she needed from his body. He was unsurprised by this, knowing how she was in the classroom. This version of her was the version he'd expected; the submissive version was the one that had surprised him.

Either way, both versions were his.

Something indescribable rent in two inside of his mind, unleashing a discomposed, voracious need that bounded to the forefront of his mind. It was beyond primal. It took the sweet borderline lovemaking that they'd been sharing together and set it aflame. Like a star going supernova in the vast emptiness of space, Draco let out a growl and flipped them over. He lifted himself onto his knees, held her thighs open, and increased his pace to a bone-rattling, jaw-dropping speed.

" _Ngh, fuck_. You're so good, Hermione," he groaned through clenched teeth. "You're so fucking sweet and good. Lying there and taking it like that."

"Draco, please," she kept repeating, over and over. "Draco, _please_."

A few short moments later, she wailed again, her chest arching up to the Heavens as she went soaring through stardust to reach the furthest reaches of space. He saw her toes curling, and her hands reaching up to caress the hard plane of his abdomen. A shiver ran through him at the feeling of her touch.

He reached between them to touch her, to help her reach the galaxies, and their eyes met.

It was too intense.

He didn't know what he was doing, or what he was saying. He just kept thinking about that day, all those weeks ago, when his cowardice caused her to get dosed with a lust potion. That day, when he'd risked ripping his own heart out of his chest just to help her. That day, when he'd first let her know exactly how to treat a witch.

The words cascaded out of his mouth like shooting stars, the same speed that his tears fell. He hoped she made a wish upon each one.

He would do his best to grant them all.

"I'm gonna spend every _fucking_ day I have on this Earth worshipping you, Granger," he said in a fervent voice. "You're getting flowers. You're getting sweets. I'm gonna fuck you everywhere, whenever you want. In the dorms, in empty classrooms, on the Quidditch Pitch. I don't give a fuck. I don't care. I just love you, okay? I just fucking _love_ you."

And then she reached the edge of the Milky Way. Hermione was coming, her body squeezing Draco's as tight as a vice. She pulled his own orgasm out of him, and the sheer potency of a potion made of confessions and desire finally took him down. He collapsed on top of her, weeping unashamedly for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life.

"Oh, Draco," she hummed as she soothed him. "You deserve to be happy."

"I'm sorry," was all he managed to sob. "I'm sorry for everything."

"You're good enough for me." Her fingers were everywhere: wiping his tears, pressing his face into her bosom, combing his hair. "You _are_ enough."

He wanted to be. He desperately wanted to be.

"I wish I had -"

"Shh," Hermione said, using the side of her knuckle to tilt his face upward. He felt like he could see the night sky reflected in her eyes. "Just be here, okay? Right now. Just be here."

He gazed at her for a second longer, and then he crawled up her body. He dropped gentle kisses on her lips, his heart pulsing with affection as she continued to clear his face of the remnants of his tears. He then slipped his arms around her waist, cradling her close, and relaxed on top of her so that he was as close to her as humanly possible. He'd never felt so vulnerable, and the only person he ever wanted to feel that way with was her.

They lay there for a long time in silence that was finally comfortable. Draco closed his eyes and listened to her steady breathing. She seemed content, and that was all he could hope for. As long as she didn't regret anything that they had done, he was content, too.

After fifteen minutes or so, when he was close to dozing off, a scratching sound came at his bedroom door.

Draco cracked one eye open and lifted his head from Hermione's bare chest.

"What's that?" she said. "Is someone there?"

"No, I think it's my mother's kneazle. Frou-Frou." He _accio_ ed his wand from the inside of his discarded blazer's sleeve, and then waved it to open the door.

Lo and behold, it was indeed Frou-Frou. Only she wasn't alone. The moment the door opened, Frou-Frou, a white cat with short fur came prancing in, and behind her trotted Hermione's furball monstrosity. Frou-Frou hopped up onto the bed and approached Hermione to sniff her shoulder and purr. Crookshanks gave a deep meow and then promptly leapt onto Draco's back.

" _Oof_!" he exclaimed in irritation as the heavy weight settled on his spine. "How did the kneazles even get out of that room? The gala can't be over for at least another hour. My mother wouldn't have let them roam with guests in the Manor."

Hermione burst into a fit of laughter as she extricated one arm from Draco's embrace so she could pet Frou-Frou. "I bet it was Crooks. He has his ways."

Draco waved his wand, shut and locked the door, and then dropped it onto the carpeted floor. Crookshanks curled up right in the dip of Draco's lower back and settled in. He was soft and warm, but he was heavy enough to be a minor grievance.

"Yeah, well, so do I," he growled. With one hand, he reached behind him to gently coax the orange poof onto the bed beside them. He lifted himself up onto his knees, starkers as the day he was born, and smirked down at his amused witch. "I hope your monstrosity likes a show. Kneazles, on the ground. You, on your stomach. Now."

She lifted her eyebrows, not moving to touch the kneazles. "Already?"

"I said _now_ , Granger."

She didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

_June_

"Is that from Healer Garrison?"

Draco looked up from the letter he was reading. Hermione had just plopped herself down at the Slytherin table beside him. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and began fixing herself a plate. Perched on his shoulder, his owl, Eomer waited patiently for instructions.

"No," he said. "It's from my mother. She wants to know when we'll be arriving in Paris next week."

Hermione grinned. "We graduate in five days. Can't she let us get past that first before she starts talking about the Summer hols?"

"No," he said again, folding the letter back up. He picked up a bit of food and passed it to Eomer. He spoke to him. "Off to the owlery with you, you big brute."

Eomer clicked his beak at Hermione, who reached over to run her fingers along the feathers atop his head. He hooted, and then winged off towards the windows.

"And your father? How is he?"

He frowned. His father had yet to accept Hermione into the fold, and she knew that. The fact that she kept asking showed him that she really, truly wanted to be a part of his life. He felt horrid knowing that his father had reprehensible thoughts about her. No matter what, he would never speak those thoughts to her. She was better off not knowing.

"He's well."

"Ah, that's wonderful. Where's everyone else?" Hermione asked, looking about the table.

Draco took a bite of his breakfast and then replied. "Francia came by and wanted me to tell you she's handling the drinks for the End-of-Year party this time. Ichiro was here, but he had an exam, so he ate quickly. And then Pansy and Theo went home already. They'll return for the graduation ceremony, but they wanted to see their parents."

She was quiet for a minute, drawing Draco's gaze. She put on a small smile, one that Draco could see right through. He wished she would let him help with her parents, but Hermione was insistent that they leave them to their new life in Australia.

"Well, that's lovely," she said, her voice strained. She buttered her toast. "Do you have any exams left to take?"

"Besides Astronomy tomorrow night, no." He set down his fork and snaked his arm around her waist. When he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, no one paid them any mind.

When they'd first showed up at Hogwarts after the Easter hols with their fingers entwined in the corridors, the entire school had been in a state of shock. Somehow, by some insane miracle, the information of their relationship hadn't made it back to Potter and the Weaselbee. Hermione hadn't heard a peep out of them since their monthly letter in May. He was sure they'd wake up to a Howler or five the day they found out, so until then, Draco lived in peace.

"I've got one for Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said before taking a chunk out of her toast. "I can't wait for our marks to be announced this Thursday. I think I did well. Do you think you did well?"

"I always do well," he said, kissing her cheek.

She gave him a sidelong look and began eating the food off of her plate. "Not better than me, though."

"I might do better in Potions," he said. He took her chin and twisted her face towards him. Her cheeks were puffed out with ham, but he planted his lips firmly against hers anyway.

"Not possible," she said when he pulled away, swallowing her bite. She smirked. "If _anything_ , our marks will be the same. But I won't get an E. So, congratulations on your O."

He couldn't help it. He gave her an incredulous laugh. "Confident you're getting an O, are you?"

She shrugged and went back to her food. She danced a bit in her seat, obviously full to the brim with energy. "I don't need to be humble for the sake of anyone else."

Draco shook his head and kissed the side of her head. He would never get enough of kissing her. "You should have been in Slytherin."

"Come off it," she said, biting into an apple. "You say that at least once per day."

"Let me live, Hermione."

Just then, a small brown owl flitted over their table, dropping a letter in front of Draco. He rescued it from his plate full of half-eaten food and opened it.

"Is that one from Healer Garrison?" Hermione asked.

"No," he said, and then he grinned. "It's from Mr. Morphinus at the potions shop."

Hermione gasped and snatched the letter out of his hands. "What does it say?! 'Dear Mr. Malfoy, I hope this letter finds you well. Congratulations on your graduation from Hogwarts school. After your excellent interview, your intriguing personal essay, and your wonderful letters, I am _pleased to offer you the position of Apprentice Potioneer at the Diagon Alley Apothecary_!' Draco! Merlin, this is wonderful! Oh, this is everything we hoped for!"

Hermione had been nothing but supportive from the very beginning, even when Draco had been embarrassed to tell her that his career options were highly limited due to his record. She hadn't judged him, made fun of him, or patronized him for his past mistakes, and had instead helped him come up with a list of possibilities. While he was mildly interested in curse-breaking, he'd settled upon the Apothecary because the owner was a good friend of his mother's and it had the option of an apprenticeship. If he stayed on that path, he could one day have his own potion shop. A quiet life selling potions was a bit of a dream for him after the chaotic life he'd led so far.

With Hermione at his side, the quiet life was all he needed.

Draco chuckled, casting around a few nervous glances as her outburst of joy drew attention. He wrapped his arm around her back as she threw her arms around his neck and peppered his face with kisses.

"Yes, it's good," he said. "The rest of the letter says that I'll hear from him soon about scheduling, but to enjoy graduation and Summer hols."

"I'm so proud of you, Draco," she said, handing him back the letter. There was a twinkle in her eyes that he recognized. "We're going to celebrate after breakfast, and I won't hear any dissent among the ranks."

"Well, you won't hear any complaints from this army of one, precious."

They held each other's gazes for a long moment, during which she popped a grape into her mouth a little slower than was normal. She let it linger on the swell of her lower lip and then blinked just as slow. He felt a stirring in his body and debated how angry McGonagall would be if he snogged Hermione at the table.

Later, he would have to sneak into her dorm and see how many times he could make her come before she could spell the word 'grape.'

"As soon as we return from France, my internship begins," she said, promptly shattering the tension. She went back to her food. "Don't let me forget to order a Portkey to New York from the Ministry _before_ we go to Paris."

"I won't," he said, studying the side of her face. He wondered how he'd gotten so fortunate.

He waited while she scarfed down her food, and then they decided to take a stroll outside the castle. Hermione's DADA exam didn't begin until after 10:00AM, so they had a bit of time to spend together before he planned on walking her there.

When she was done, he took her hand and they made their way down the corridor.

"You aren't worried about me leaving anymore?" She looked up at him. "This was the first time you haven't snarked and snipped about it."

"About you leaving?" He shook his head. "I thought about it and mentioned it in the letter before last to Healer Garrison."

"Hm, I bet he had some good advice about that," she said, leaning into him and gripping his hand with both of hers.

"Yeah," Draco said with a short laugh. "He told me to leave you alone and let you live your life."

She gave him a stern look. "I highly doubt a Mind Healer with a Muggle _and_ magical education told you to ' _let me live_ '."

"He said . . . Something along those lines. I took liberties."

She wrinkled her nose. "You take a lot of liberties."

They stopped walking when they neared the exit to the courtyard, the large awning making way for a bright, clear June sky. He turned to face her, tugging on her hand until she fell against his chest.

"With you," he chanted, "I'll take any liberty I please."

"What did he really say?" she asked, squeezing his hand and placing her other hand on his chest. "Healer Garrison?"

"He told me to reflect on what's most important to me, and decide what I value the most: your freedom to explore your future, or my need to have you by my side. I used to be selfish, but I can't be selfish anymore. Not with you. I'd rather come visit you in America. It's not as if it would be difficult to pay for accommodations."

"And what did you decide was most important to you?" she asked, her eyelids fluttering.

He leaned down, his gaze bouncing back and forth between her lips and eyes. "You, Hermione."

Hermione pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes, threading her fingers through Draco's hair as their tongues engaged each other in a dance that he knew well. Her kisses were always intoxicating, and they always left him wanting more.

The fire in his heart that she never allowed to die out flared hotter. He walked her backwards until her back was against the wall. He cupped her face with his hands. His head turned to the side, his tongue driving deep into her mouth to try and consume every last bit of her that he could. He was fine with her leaving, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try to memorize the feeling of her lips before she left.

When he pulled back, she beamed up at him.

"I have one more rule to add to my list, Granger," he said, placing one hand on the wall by her head.

"And what's that?"

He gazed down into her eyes, his mind whirling as he tried to rearrange his thoughts into one coherent string of words that would depict exactly what he meant to say. He caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb and then pushed her hair behind her ear.

"You have to promise me that you'll fall in love with me. Because I don't think I can spend the rest of my life without knowing that no matter where you go, you'll always come back to me. That you'll always be mine."

She blinked slowly, her eyelids dragging back upward as she tilted her head back. They swayed slightly, as though they were dancing like they had the night of the Easter gala, and she smiled. She smiled, and in her eyes, he saw the wishing stars that he'd given to her.

"I don't have family, or a lot of money. I don't have a claim to anything other than good marks and a love of reading. I have a cat that's half the size of me and two friends who absolutely _despise_ you," she said. "But no matter where I go - wherever we go together - I can promise you my heart, Draco Malfoy."

Draco's own heart swelled bigger and bigger, until he felt like he wasn't even a Slytherin any longer. He felt like a damn Hufflepuff.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, and then he guided her lips to his.

He snogged the fuck out of her, and he didn't care if McGonagall walked out and threatened not to let them graduate. Hermione was his everything. A black hole could rip the Earth into shreds, and he would still be in love with her.

"What should we do about Potty and the Weaselbee, by the way?" he asked when they pulled away.

Hermione tapped her chin in a playful manner and then grinned.

"We wait for their Howlers."

He allowed his witch to take his hand and lead him out to the courtyard, and he felt content. When she glanced over her shoulder and gave him her smile - _that_ smile, the one that she only ever showed to him when they were making love - he knew that everything had played out exactly as it was supposed to.

Draco Malfoy was used to wanting things.

He was used to watching everyone around him have their wishes granted, living their lives without the threat of pain or disappointment hanging over their heads. Watching his friends move on to promising futures that weren't bogged down by a record of his poor choices. Watching his mother throw herself into a new life full of promise and fulfillment. Watching people like Potter go on to achieve what he would never have in a career at the Ministry.

He wasn't used to feeling held. He wasn't used to feeling the security and solace of a loving touch. He wasn't used to caring so deeply for someone and having them return even a fraction of that for him to absorb. He'd once told himself that he deserved nothing good, and that the world would be better off without him in it.

Now, everything was different.

He had shed the suit of envy from around his heart, and he'd allowed Hermione Granger to cloak him in forgiveness. Ever since she gave him the gift of her trust, he couldn't remember what it felt like to be lonely. The person he wanted was a gift the fates had deigned to give to him, a gift that he finally felt he deserved.

He knew her birthday now. _September 19th._

He knew her favorite color. _Red._

He knew her favorite novel. _Hogwarts: A History._

He'd loved her before he knew those things, and he loved her now.

Even though he had a lot of wounds in his heart to mend, and a Hell of a lot of scars tattooed on his spirit, he would keep trying every day. He would wake up every day that he could, and he would keep trying. One day, he knew the skies would be full of stars again. Stars that would finally, finally grant his wishes.

Draco no longer spent his days panicking, wondering what more he could do to become worthy. He no longer destroyed himself inside trying to be good enough for her.

He already was.

* * *

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	17. Chapter 17

**Here is an extra special epilogue that no one asked for :D New songs have been added to the YouTube playlist!**

**Important author's note at the end.**

**Trigger warnings: This is a heavy epilogue. Lots of self-loathing, suicidal ideation. There's bad BDSM etiquette that is integral to the plot of the epilogue, too.**

**BIG THANK YOU TO TIKTOK USERS beetlepimpsidepiece and carlieejane for reccing this fic on Tiktok! I dueted your video from my account honeysweetcutie and I wasn't even wearing a wig. Chile so anyway THANK YOU and LOVE YOU!**

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Songs of the Chapter: Cabin Fever - Jaden, Alibi - Outline in Color, Sorry - beabadoobee, Butterfly's Repose - Zabawa, Looking Out for You - Joy Again_

x

_Tuesday, October 15th_

_Five Years Later_

Draco lost the apprenticeship.

Potioneer apprenticeships usually lasted eight years. During those eight years, the apprentice not only worked on learning how sales and customer service worked in the Potion industry, but they learned how to make more complicated potions than the sort one made at Hogwarts.

But no matter how great Draco was at concocting potions and schmoozing customers, he wasn't able to outrun his past.

Nobody wanted to buy potions that had been handled by a former Death Eater. Nobody wanted to step into a shop that Lucius Malfoy's son apprenticed at. He'd been spat on more times than he could count. More times than even Hermione knew.

After the sixth time, he stopped telling her.

Mr. Morphinus hung onto him as long as he could, but eventually, business dropped too much to keep him on. With tears in his eyes, the elderly wizard had let Draco go with a reluctance, promising that if things ever got better in the future, he might be able to come back. His shop was important to him, and Draco understood that. He understood that his existence within it was a threat to Mr. Morphinus's livelihood.

But he had never hated himself more.

It had been three months since he was let go, and two months since Draco stopped seeing Healer Garrison. He felt too low about himself to even see the Mind Healer. It felt like all of the work they'd done on Draco's self-worth the past years had been unraveled within days. He spent the majority of his time moping, and when he wasn't moping, he was living a life that his father would consider a failure.

He had no job because of his poor choices during the war.

He never visited his mother because he was too ashamed of himself.

He lived in his witch's cottage because he was too much of an emotional sap to live on his own.

His witch, who hadn't told him she loved him yet, and it had been five years.

A couple of weeks before Halloween, Hermione was running late for work. She'd been having night terrors almost every single night about Richter and Poe, and they were keeping both her _and_ Draco up. Draco's low mood already made it difficult for him to sleep, and it seemed like every time he finally managed to close his eyes, she started whimpering or screaming.

It didn't make any sense. Hermione had returned from her two-year internship in New York a few years ago, and she'd slept like a baby ever since. But now, to suddenly have night terrors? It didn't make any sense.

" _Why don't you tell Healer Rosair?"_ he'd asked her one night when he was running his fingers down the length of her spine, speaking of Hermione's Mind Healer. " _Surely she can think of something to help."_

" _I don't want to disappoint her,"_ she'd said as her tears soaked his bare chest. " _She thinks I'm doing well. I don't want her to think I'm not."_

So, because of yet another night of screaming, she'd slept in and was late. Draco always woke with her, and today he was exhausted. He was exhausted and he felt like a worthless peon. Here he was, groggily standing in the kitchen making her coffee while she showered and got ready for her illustrious Ministry job. She looked forward to eight hours of shadowing Minister Shacklebolt, attending Wizengamot trials, and signing bills.

He looked forward to eight hours of watching the telly with Crookshanks in his lap while he waited for her to get home.

As progressive as he was now, this went against everything he'd been raised to believe. He was a wizard. He was a _Malfoy_. He was supposed to have a _job_ , a _charity,_ a _purpose._ At the very least, he wished he could do something that was actually _helpful_ to his witch. He couldn't cook, he couldn't do any household chores without destroying something and needing to fix it with a charm, and he had no prospects.

Who was going to hire him?

Sometimes, he just wanted to cry.

"Ooh, is that my coffee?" Hermione came padding into the kitchen, a white towel wrapped around her body and her wet curls piled on top of her head.

His heart leapt in his chest, as it always did when she was around. She could be in the next room over, and he would still feel as forlorn as though she was miles away. She was a ray of moonlight piercing through the clouds in his heart.

"Yes," he said as the stirring spoon clinked against the edges of the porcelain mug. "With cream and sugar."

"Thank you, Draco," she said, reaching in front of him for the mug and taking the spoon out. She took a sip and when she smiled, it lit up her entire face. "Delicious. You're excellent at making coffee, did you know?"

The corners of his lips tugged upward and he crossed his arms over his chest. "How goes the proposal?"

"Oh, it's going to be back-to-back meetings today," she said after another sip. "But as long as it goes well, I'm Kingsley's first choice for the promotion."

"I should hope so. You'd never let me live it down if you lost it to a Slytherin."

"Millicent is kind and while I'm sure she'd be great at the position . . . The best choice is me."

Draco couldn't help but laugh. He reached for her, taking the mug from her and setting it down. His hands slid around to her lower back and he pulled her against him.

"It's unfortunate that you're late today," he murmured, gazing at her curling lashes and shower-flushed cheeks. "If you were early, I could have given you a preliminary test."

"A test for what?" she asked, her expression reprimanding.

He dipped his head down by her ear. "To see how good you are for the position."

She shivered and tilted her head to the side as his lips grazed the shell of her ear. The fact that the only thing between his bare chest and hers was her thin towel was causing his mind to do somersaults. They'd been living in this cottage long enough that he knew all the best places to fuck her, and the kitchen counter was one of them.

"But . . ." she said, pushing him away with a coy smile. "Seeing as I'm _late_ , it'll have to be later. When I get home."

"All right," he said, swiftly dropping a peck to her lips. He grabbed her mug and returned it to her.

"And besides." She gave him a flirty look over her shoulder in the kitchen entryway. "I might not do a good job today. I might deserve a punishment tonight."

Draco's mind stopped somersaulting and started wandering to dangerous places. He smirked and leaned back against the counter. Tilting his head to the side, he scrutinized her.

"I hope you disappoint me, then," he murmured.

There was a twinkle in her eyes as they locked gazes across the kitchen, and then she went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. The moment she was gone, it was like the clouds rolled in again. His heart sank into the pit of his chest and he turned to look out the small window above the sink.

The sun was just starting to creep its way up into the sky, but inside, Draco felt like it was raining.

Hermione liked to play music while she was getting ready, so he wasn't surprised when he heard rock music coming from the bathroom. He shook his head, smiling to himself a bit. She was probably dancing around in front of the mirror. That witch was going to make herself even more late.

Crookshanks wandered in and jumped up onto the counter by the sink. He sat on his haunches and flicked his fluffy tail back and forth. Draco glanced at his smashed face and bright green eyes, not pausing in the motion of scrubbing out the inside of the now-empty coffee pot.

"I know I could use a wand," Draco said to him. "But I feel more useful doing everything myself."

The kneazle's response was to meow.

When the kitchen was clean again, Draco walked to the bathroom. The music was much louder in the hallway than it sounded from the kitchen. He crossed his arms again and leaned one shoulder against the left side of the doorframe.

In the bathroom, Hermione was wearing her brassiere and knickers, dancing and singing with some sort of make-up brush in her hand. As always, his presence didn't stop her or hold her back. In fact, she turned and began to sing directly to him, her smile so big that it was infectious.

He watched her, as he always did. He liked watching her. Whether she was quiet and reading, or dancing and singing, he liked to look at her and marvel at the fact that she was his. As much as he wished she would tell him she loved him, he felt like he loved her enough for the both of them.

That was why no matter how low he felt about himself, he would take care of her cottage to the best of his ability. He would learn the lawn mower, the washing machine, and the coffee maker. He would learn all of it so that she knew how much he appreciated her, and so that she knew that even if something horrible had brought them together, something nice would keep them together.

"Dance with me!" she cried above the music, jumping up and down and twirling around.

He laughed a bit. "Circe, Granger. Are you mental? I'm not dancing."

"You know how to dance." she said, still moving about like a little firecracker with only one eye coated in eyeshadow so far. "You dance with me at your mother's galas every year!"

"That's ballroom dance. Not . . . Whatever you're doing."

She tossed her hair back and forth and then danced over to him. She put her hands on the back of his neck and tried to get him to move. "Come on! Please dance with me?"

Draco felt heat rising to his cheeks. Ballroom dance was one thing-he was good at that. The sort of dancing she was doing, jumping about and gyrating her hips and throwing her head all over the place? It was wild and happy and fun. It was something that he felt he'd look foolish doing.

It was out of control.

"No, no," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. He felt Crookshanks weaving through his ankles, and then plopping his large, furry body down on the tops of his feet. "I'll just watch you dance."

Hermione pouted, but then the song changed. Within seconds, she was beaming and her eyes were wide with excitement. She began to dance anew, and Draco watched her with a faint smile painted onto his face. He smiled like it wasn't raining.

He wished he could stop disappointing her.

* * *

_Thursday, October 24th_

Draco wasn't sure if Crookshanks was Hermione's kneazle anymore.

When he wasn't napping on the couch, the beast followed him everywhere. All over the house. If he went outside to work on the lawn, Crookshanks sat at the screen door and meowed until Draco acknowledged him. And then he kept yowling until Draco let him sit on the porch to watch him work.

Inside, Crookshanks sat on his feet when he was standing in place, trailed after him when he was cleaning, and curled up on his lap or chest while he was watching the telly or reading. In the beginning, it had annoyed Draco because he sort-of missed Frou-Frou, but over time, he'd gotten used to it. Even Hermione had remarked that it was "cute" to come home from work and see him and Crookshanks sitting there.

Draco usually had the entire place to himself while she was at work. She didn't mind that he didn't work, especially given that his Gringotts account was stocked nearly to the ceiling, and she'd been extremely supportive when he lost the apprenticeship. If it weren't for her, Draco wasn't entirely sure he'd have lived through those first few weeks of unemployment.

Over the course of the last few months, Draco had seen fit to teach himself to use the appliances. He taught himself how to use the coffee maker, the microwave, the telly, the shower, and the lawn mower. That last one had nearly killed him, but he'd managed. He'd had to pull out his wand and do a few spells to keep things from going haywire, and a wandless spell had been used to calm the lawn mower down.

None of the neighbors had seen, thank Salazar.

It took him a solid three weeks to learn how to use the washing machine and the dryer, and he'd even flooded the cottage once or twice. Drying charms had kept Hermione from figuring that out. Thankfully, Crookshanks liked to sleep on the couch, so he'd completely missed the water floating on by across the floor both times.

He'd been practicing using the stove and knives for a couple of weeks and now, and he was fairly certain that he knew how to cook stew now. It was just water, spices, vegetables, and beef, right? And since today was the day after Hermione's recent promotion, he wanted to cook her something to not only repay her for letting him live off of her like a leech, but also to show her what he'd taught himself.

It also helped to keep busy. When he wasn't focusing on something with his hands, his mind had a tendency to start wasting away and rotting. He'd caught himself sitting for hours on the floor in front of the couch, staring at the floor while he went over all the different ways he could die without devastating his mother and Hermione when he was gone.

That wasn't healthy. He knew it wasn't healthy. He didn't want to disappoint everyone even more.

So he made sure he stayed busy.

When the stew was done, he put it into a container and stuck it into the refrigerator. He wasn't sure it was even going to be any good, but he was hopeful that he'd done a good job. He just wanted to see Hermione smile. He never wanted her to stop smiling.

He wished he could tell her that he was staying for her.

Draco and Crookshanks walked into the living room, and he played with him for a little bit. The kneazle had more toys than was necessary, but every time Hermione went to the grocer's, she seemed to bring back a new one for him. He typically played with them nonstop for a few days, and then turned his nose up at it forever. Sometimes, Draco could get him to play if he used every single toy at least once for a few seconds.

Later, when Hermione came home, Draco realized that he'd fallen asleep on the floor. He sat up, feeling a bit embarrassed. He'd meant to put clothes on, but instead hadn't changed out of his black trackies because he'd been so exhausted. He wasn't even wearing a shirt.

_Gods above, I'm such a fucking-_

"So adorable," Hermione said, leaning down to swipe her fingers through his hair. "I love coming home to see you two asleep like this."

Draco glanced down and saw that Crookshanks was stretched out, asleep beside him. His lips quirked upward, and then he stood up. Hermione tilted her face up to maintain eye contact, and then they embraced.

"How was your first day in the new position?" he asked after kissing the top of her head more times than was necessary.

"It was all right," she said. "Very, very tiring. Kingsley is as big as the Hulk, but he moves like the Flash."

"The who and the _who_?"

"Nevermind," she said, giggling. She rested the side of her head against his chest. "I'm just glad to be home. My wizard and my cat and my cottage. I can't wait to put my feet up."

"I hope you're hungry," Draco said, his heart as warm as it always became when she called him her wizard. "I made dinner."

Hermione gasped. " _You did_? Oh, my goodness! You learned the stove?!"

"Yes," he said, holding her at arm's-length and giving her a strange look. "Why does that excite you so much?"

"I just like seeing you learn new things," she said, voice bright. "And I want you to be happy. Every new thing you learn brings you closer to finding what makes you happy."

He leaned down to kiss her, because that was all he could think to do to express how her words made him feel. He wasn't sure how to explain to her that he was trying to find something to make himself happy, too. He didn't want to tell her that she was the only thing that made him happy right now, and that he knew how unhealthy that was. And he really didn't want to tell her how scared he was that he might not ever find that joy.

He kissed her so he wouldn't accidentally tell her he thought he might be better off dead.

They sat down to eat after Draco heated the stew up, and Hermione seemed more chipper than normal. She chattered on and on like a gossip, telling him about work, how things were going in the Ministry, and updating him on things that were going on in the wizarding world. Draco hadn't subscribed to the _Prophet_ in a long time, so he had no idea what was going on.

"And would you believe it, he's doing everything he can to undermine the medical professionals," he heard her saying from the table while he filled the bowls with the stew. "I feel sorry for the people in America. I wish we knew why magic blood was impervious to the virus. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people at the Ministry, inquiring about which Potioneers are working on an antidotal potion for wizarding families with Muggle members. But honestly-the virus isn't magical, so I'm not sure that a potion will work."

"It might," Draco said, setting her bowl before her with a spoon in it. "There's plenty of potions that work for the common cold, the flu, and headaches. Those aren't magical in nature."

"Yes, well . . ." She trailed off to take a bite of the soup.

Draco sat down and waited for her to continue speaking. He scooped up a spoonful.

"U-Um," she stammered, and then coughed a bit.

He glanced at her, the spoon poised halfway to his mouth. "Do you need water?"

"Um, y-yes. Yeah, I think so. I'm a bit parched."

Draco went back to the sink to get a cup and fill it from the pitcher in the refrigerator. He filled one for himself and by the time he returned, Hermione was talking again.

"I think the best thing would be to find some way to take potionmaking and infuse it with Muggle scientific methods to create some sort of vaccination that can help," she said. "There has been quite a bit of success with using the same herbs that are used in medieval Muggle medicine to make potions that we use to this day. Perhaps there's some way to do something similar? I . . ." She trailed off again, chewing slowly.

Draco finally took a bite.

It tasted horrific.

Oh, it was awful. It was quite literally water, bland meat, and vegetables. The spices were all floating like chunks at the top of the mixture, and it was all Draco could do not to spit it out. Blood and heat went hurtling to his face. He was humiliated.

Could he do _nothing_ right?

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice quiet.

"What?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, Draco-it's just stew. It's all right. We can order in. It's okay. Did you use broth to make it?"

Draco shook his head. "Water."

"Oh." She pursed her lips and then reached across the table for his hand. She squeezed it. "Typically, stew is made with a broth base, Draco. But it's all right. Don't get down about it. We'll order in some of that pizza you like, and then you can try again next time."

He didn't want to try again next time. He wanted to die.

They ordered pizza and Draco spent the rest of the night pretending to smile and faking laughter at the comedy movie Hermione put on. He knew it was silly to hate himself so much over a simple failed meal, but he couldn't stop it. It was like a crumbling dam at the mouth of a raging river. Every small thing that happened felt like another hole in the wall.

Enough holes, and the river would drown him.

He lay awake that night, too depressed to sleep. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering once again when things would get better for him. Wondering when he'd secure a job, because cooking obviously wasn't his forte. No matter how much he loved Hermione, he was terrified that it wasn't going to be enough.

What happened if this went on for five more years? Ten? Fifteen? Hermione hadn't told him she loved him because he was a failure. He just knew it. He'd mistreated her through their childhood, and now he was a dead weight on her life. An unwanted anchor on the back of her ship.

When would she cut the rope?

He closed his eyes and tried once again to drift off, but it was like his entire body was thrumming with energy. It was negative energy, but it was keeping him up all the same.

"No . . . Please . . . I don't . . ."

Draco's heart skipped a beat.

" _I said no_! _No! Please, please don't!"_

It was happening again.

Hermione was having another night terror.

Draco looked to his left. The moment he laid eyes on her in the darkness, her silhouette outlined by starlight from the window, she began to thrash about. She thrashed so wildly that her knuckles smacked into Draco's eye. He let out a cry and rolled away, nearly falling off of the bed in the process. Hermione continued to scream, and scream, and scream.

This wasn't normal. This was one of the worst ones. Her screams were bloodcurdling and sounded like they were full of horror. Like whatever she was dreaming was so awful that she couldn't even manage to beg any longer. All she could do was cry.

He scrambled up onto his hands and knees and crawled over to her, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Hermione!" he yelled. "Hermione, wake up! Come on, love-it's just a nightmare!"

She just kept wailing.

Frantic, he grabbed her wrists and wrestled with her for a moment. She kicked and fought, her eyes squeezed shut so tight that they wrinkled. Her hair was a disaster, having fallen out of her sleeping plait long ago. He pinned her wrists down beside her head, careful not to straddle her just in case she woke and didn't understand if she was asleep or awake. She was wearing one of his tee shirts, and when her eyes finally snapped open, he thought she looked frailer than usual.

He looked down into her crazed face, nodding to her encouragingly the way Healer Rosair had told him to do. Her chest heaved up and down as she struggled to catch her breath.

"It's all right," he said, his voice soft and calm. "You're all right. It was a nightmare."

"Draco?" she said, her voice tremulous.

"Yeah," he whispered. "You had another night terror. It sounded awful this time."

"It w-was. It-it was. It . . ." Panting and gasping, she dissolved into raucous sobs, tears spilling down her cheeks as she went limp.

Draco laid down beside her and pulled her into his arms, gathering her up in a way that he hoped was comforting. Because even if he could offer her nothing else, he could at least give her his support and strength. Whatever little of it there was.

She cried for what felt like hours. Until he could feel her tears dripping down from his skin to the sheets. Until he thought he might go insane from not sleeping. Until he thought he might just hop into the Floo, go find Richter and Poe, and kill them both before the sun came up.

When her sobs finally quieted into distant sniffles, he spoke.

"You have to tell Healer Rosair," he said, his voice hoarse from how tired he was. His eyelids felt heavy. "Please. You can't keep going through this."

She was silent for a moment before she whispered, "Will you come with me?"

"Yes," he said. _I said I'd follow her anywhere. I meant it._

"Okay. Then . . . I'll owl her tomorrow."

"I love you," he whispered, nuzzling his nose into the hair atop her head. "We're going to be okay."

Her answer was to bury her head further into his chest.

Draco was so tired. It was exhausting, spending every day pretending that he wanted to breathe. Trying to stay alive for her sake. He just wanted her to be happy and okay. He wanted her to love him back, but even if she didn't, he would give her his hours every night just to make sure she felt safe. Even if he had to stay alive for five, ten, or fifteen more years.

They fell asleep entangled in each other's arms.

* * *

_Thursday, October 31st_

"Happy All Hallow's," Healer Rosair said as Hermione and Draco entered her carpeted office.

The room was decorated in orange and black, with pumpkins, ghosts, and ghouls strewn about the room in the form of decor. Draco always found it somewhat humorous that Healer Rosair was a witch but kept things looking so Muggle in her office. He knew she had Muggle patients, though, and since her office was located in Muggle London, it made sense.

"How was your week, Healer Rosair?" Hermione asked, her voice a lot brighter than she probably felt inside. She sat down cross-legged on the couch beside Draco, and together they faced the chair that Healer Rosair usually sat in.

"It was wonderful, actually," the Healer replied. "I got to see my daughter and her husband, and we had a lovely dinner and some pie."

"Oh, that does sound lovely," Hermione said, resting her hand in Draco's lap like she always did. He twined their fingers together, like he always did.

He hid a smile.

"Well, I see you've brought Draco today," Healer Rosair said, running a hand through his waist-length, wavy grey hair. Her blue eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled. "How are you, Draco?"

"I'm fine," he said, holding eye contact for only a second before it became a bit too overwhelming. Sometimes, he felt like if he looked into anyone's eyes for too long-anyone who wasn't his mother or Hermione-they would see how wicked and dark he was inside, and they'd smell his failures on him.

"He's really been getting along with Crooks, actually," Hermione said, giving him a somewhat cheeky smile. "I came home to find them napping on the floor together."

Healer Rosair gave a hearty laugh as she reached over beside her onto the end table. She picked up her notepad and a Muggle pen. "I'm sure you're starting to get jealous, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little."

Draco looked at her, but she was grinning.

"All right, so . . ." Healer Rosair gave Hermione a sincere look. "Why don't you tell me a little more about the night terrors you wrote about in your letter. How long have they been happening?"

"Oh, for months," Hermione said with a sigh. "It was sporadic at first, but lately, it's been every single night. It keeps us both up, makes me late for work, and makes it difficult for me to want to sleep at night." She glanced at Draco, looking for his agreement. "I think it's keeping up both exhausted and is starting to wear us down."

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I'd have to agree with that. It . . . I don't get much sleep."

Healer Rosair frowned. "That _is_ concerning. What happens in these night terrors, Hermione?"

Hermione's fingers wrapped tighter through Draco's. "I dream about Richter, Poe, and the Cupere. It usually always starts the same: I'm in school, it's Valentine's, and someone drugs my food. But instead of Draco being there to get me through it, they find me in various places all over the school. And last week, when I owled you, it was because I had the worst one yet."

"Why was it the worst one?"

Hermione lowered her head for a moment. "They found me in my dorm. Which, as you probably remember, Hogwarts dorms are locked if you don't have the password, so it terrified the dream version of me to see them bursting into my room. Eight Years were given their own single rooms, which there was no Eighth Year when you were in school, so you don't know that they did that. Anyway, they . . . They attacked me. They cast silencing charms on me and charm the door shut, and they . . ."

Draco saw her take in a hard swallow and his own frown deepened.

"Take your time," Healer Rosair said.

"In the night terror," Hermione said, her voice shaking, "they took turns violating me. And in the other nightmares, they never quite get the chance. But this time . . . I don't know. They just did."

"Do you think there could be a reason why the nightmare has changed?" Rosair asked. "Perhaps maybe some outside stress at work, or stress at home?"

Draco's stomach twisted.

What if _he_ was causing her the extra stress? What if having him live in her house, doing nothing to contribute, was making her dreams worse? What if the night terrors were _his_ fault?

"I just got promoted at work," Hermione said, giving Draco a thoughtful look. "Maybe that's putting a lot more stress on me than we think?"

Draco gave a small shrug. "Perhaps."

Rosair looked at him for a second, her gaze lingering, and then she looked at Hermione again. "I think it's important to recognize that there's nothing wrong with you for having night terrors. They're a natural function in the brain. Many, many people get them, and they don't mean there's anything wrong with you."

"Do they ever go away?" Hermione asked, sounding sad. "Or will I have to go through them forever?"

"Each case is individual," Rosair said, "but night terrors are not permanent, no. There are things we can do to target the root cause and hopefully, we can kinda uproot that weed and clear it out of your healthy grass. Does that make sense?"

For the next forty-five minutes or so, Draco sat there and listened to the two witches talk. Hermione told her in detail as many of the different nightmares as she could remember having. They were horrible, as he suspected, and he found that the longer she talked, the worse he felt.

If this was his fault, he wouldn't be surprised. Everything was his fault, after all. Even the Cupere happening to her was his fault. He'd woken up late that day, hadn't he?

Rosair turned her attention on Draco multiple times, looking at him with a strange curiosity that only served to lower Draco's self-esteem even more. She knew it was his fault. He wondered if she was wishing he wasn't here so she could recommend that Hermione leave him. He didn't deserve to have a witch, let alone the Golden Girl, heroine of the wizarding world.

Hermione's hand was the only thing keeping him from sinking down into a depression so deep and thick that he was afraid he might stop breathing if he allowed it to swallow him.

"Draco," the Healer said after a while. "Draco?"

He jolted and looked up from the spot on the maroon carpet that he'd been analyzing. "Yeah?"

"I have a suggestion for Hermione. Do you think you'd be amenable to participating?"

Confused, his gaze bounced back and forth between the two witches. He sat up straighter. "Yes. I mean, yeah. I'm here for a reason."

"Well, the suggestion I have may not be something you're amenable to," the Healer said. "Because what I think is happening is rooted a bit deeper than a normal night terror. Tell me, if you feel comfortable . . . How is your sex life?"

Hermione blushed so red that Draco almost wanted to chuckle. Shy as ever, she attempted to withdraw her hand from his, but he held on tighter.

"Our sex life is good," he answered for her. "At least, on my end. For me, anyway."

"For me, too," Hermione squeaked out. "Do you think it has something to do with that?"

"Well . . ." Rosair tilted her head to the side for a second. "There's something called traumatic reenactment, and it's where you reenact the things that you experienced that caused you trauma. You choose someone you trust, and then you reenact it in a way that is helpful and effective."

Hermione nodded, but Draco felt alarmed.

"You want us to reenact _that_?" he said, his brows pulling together. "Are you kidding me?"

"Now, Draco," Rosair said, holding up one hand. "That's why I asked you if you'd be amenable. Whatever you choose to reenact, that would be up to you. Because what's happening here is that I think-and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong-that Hermione feels like she's lost control over her body. The same way she lost control when she was in those moments that day, all those years ago. Do you understand?"

Draco shifted, feeling uncomfortable. He didn't want to reenact anything that would hurt Hermione, even if it was fake. Even if the outcome was positive. He didn't want to give the fates another reason to punish him, nor did he want to be on the giving end of something that made Hermione feel anything like Richter, Poe, and the Cupere did.

"I think I understand," Hermione said. "Because for me, the thing that bothered me the most about the potion was the fact that I didn't have any choice in it happening to me." She looked at Draco for a second. "And Draco and I talked about that that day. I told him that I wanted to be able to have a choice."

"In doing that, I think you forgot that even if you were making that choice, it wasn't a _true_ choice. It was a Cornelian dilemma, and that has caused negative effects on your mental health. Thus, the night terrors."

"But why did they just start happening now?" Hermione asked. "Why years later?"

Rosair sighed. "Trauma is complicated, Hermione. It can be pervasive, going on at a constant and getting worse as the years go by, or it can come and go like a thief in the night. Both effects are valid. Your feelings and your fears are very valid."

Draco frowned again. He knew what it felt like to have something inside of him that hurt him and traumatized him at a constant rate. Ever since the Dark Lord returned, Draco felt like he'd been suspended in a constant state of trauma. It felt like he'd never been happy.

Hermione looked at Draco again. "What's going through your head?"

"I'm just confused," Draco said. "How is sex supposed to help with this? Is it the only way?"

"It's not the only way," Rosair said. "It's just that sex therapy with a trusted partner can be extremely effective for sex and body-related trauma. It's also not a requirement for healing; it's just my first suggestion."

"It's a way for me to get back some of the control that I felt like I lost that day," Hermione explained. "At least, that's how I see it."

"So, you're interested in it?" Draco felt taken aback. "You want to use sex to . . . What, reverse that day, or something?"

"No, it's . . ." Hermione bit her lower lip. "I don't think we're seeing eye-to-eye. Healer Rosair, can you explain further?"

"Okay, see," Rosair said, "the reason why I think Hermione is having these night terrors about Richter and Poe is because she feels in her mind that they are her attackers. They hurt her with the dosing of the Cupere, which then caused her to lose control of her body. In order to gain back that control that day, she was forced to decide between two impossible choices. But that was just for that day. Her mind is telling her, _hey, what about the rest of your life?_ It's saying that there's healing to be done."

"All right," Draco said slowly, still frowning. "But there's no other way?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Why are you acting like you'll do anything to not sleep with me?"

Rosair's eyebrows shot up and Draco's heart began to beat faster. He felt panic starting to squeeze at his chest and he looked at Hermione with wide eyes.

"That's not what I meant, Granger. I just don't want to hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me," she said in an angry tone. "I really want to do this."

"You don't want to hear the other suggestions first?"

"No!" she cried, and he was shocked to see her eyes welling up. "I want the night terrors to stop!"

After a couple more attempts to convince her to at least _hear_ the other options, Draco conceded defeat. He didn't want Hermione to think he was suddenly unattracted to her, hurting her feelings in the process. He just wanted her to be okay.

If this was what she wanted to do, then so be it.

"All right," he said in the exhalation of a sigh. "So, what do we do? Just fuck normally?"

Hermione smacked him on the arm to silently reprimand him for his language, and Rosair gave him an amused-yet-disapproving look.

"However you normally sleep together is all right," Rosair said. "But the key is to have Hermione give up all of her control in the beginning, whatever way you think that fits your preferred style of intercourse. Then, throughout the course of the . . . Well, the session, she takes the control back in some way. That can either be using words or body language. Perhaps a safe word?"

At this, both Hermione and Draco flushed.

Healer Rosair had no idea how well they knew the term.

"Okay," Hermione said after a second. "I think I understand now. I really think it's a good idea. We can reenact what happened in my last night terror in some way, and then maybe that will help. It's a good starting place, anyway."

"And if it doesn't work, then at your next appointment, we can discuss the other options. Sometimes, you just have to switch things up a bit, sometimes you have to try something completely different. This can either be a quick fix, or a long-term process. In any case, I'll be with you every step of the way."

At the end of the appointment, Healer Rosair held Draco back for a moment.

"Draco, may I ask you a question?"

"Uh . . . Sure. Yeah." He held up one finger to Hermione, who was at the receptionist's desk paying for the appointment. Then, he turned to face Rosair in the door. "What's your question?"

She twisted her lips, scrutinizing him for a moment that felt agonizing in how long it went on. It went on so long, that he felt the back of his neck prickling underneath the fabric of his blazer collar. He wondered if he'd done something wrong. Had he been unsupportive during the appointment?

"Are you sure you can be effective at this?" she asked. "Because if you're struggling with your own wellness, then this may not work the way we're hoping."

It was like the Hogwarts Express had just derailed.

_How does she know?_

Draco Occluded faster than he ever had in his entire life and straightened his back. "I'm quite all right, Healer Rosair, and I do think I can be very effective when helping Hermione with this sort of thing."

Roxair arched one thick, grey brow. "Are you certain? Because I can see that something is troubling you. And if you're struggling mentally, then it can impede your ability to be effective while engaging in trauma reenactment. It would theoretically be very difficult for two traumatized individuals to heal one another, especially if one is masking a deeper level of poor mental health."

_How the fuck does she know?!_

"I promise you that I'm all right," Draco said, trying his best to keep his Occlusion intact so that he didn't glare at her. "I will help Hermione. It's going to be okay."

". . . Very well. But one thing that is _very_ important is if you notice that it's affecting her poorly, you stop _immediately_. If the reenactment becomes just as traumatizing as the initial moment of impact, then it could take her longer to heal."

When they left the practice and walked down the street to get some dinner at a restaurant, Hermione was a lot more excited about her prospects than Draco was.

* * *

_Saturday, November 2nd_

Tonight was the night.

Draco and Hermione had discussed it as thoroughly as they possibly could. They'd covered every base, reiterated every boundary, and analyzed every possible outcome. Draco had insisted Hermione write him an actual list of rules on parchment, which she owled him while she was at work on Friday, and he spent an hour poring over. Hermione demanded that he nix the safe word, which he felt was a hard limit for him, and they argued over it when she returned home.

" _It's my body, and if I don't want a safe word, then I think I should be able to decide that!"_ she'd yelled while Crookshanks watched them from the couch.

Draco, who had been pacing the living room with anxiety curling in his stomach, had yelled back, " _Except that you and I both have barely had any sleep in weeks! So you can't possibly be thinking clearly! I'm not nixing the safe word!"_

" _Why? Because you don't think you can handle this? You should have just put your foot down and said no while we were with Healer Rosair!"_

He'd whirled on her then, nearing a full-blown panic attack. _"Because I don't know how far I can go when I'm in that mindset, and I'm scared that I'll go too far!"_

They'd stared at one another, glaring while they each struggled to think of words to say next. Hermione had spoken, then.

" _That's the point. I want you to go further than you think I can handle. Because Richter and Poe would have. They've_ been _going too far in my nightmares. How can I undo something in a dream if I've never experienced it in real life?"_

Draco had turned away from her.

" _Fuck, Granger. Fuck. You don't know what you're asking me to do."_

" _Yes, I do."_

" _This is imbecilic."_

" _Yeah. But we have to try."_ Her voice had become high-pitched with emotion. " _We have to, because I can't take this anymore. It's holding me back. It's keeping me from saying and doing the things I really want to. I need you to do this for me. You said I was everything to you. So, why can't you prove it?"_

It wasn't fair for her to do that. She was manipulating him.

But he hated himself enough to do it.

So, here he was. Standing in the living room by the window, absentmindedly gazing out the window while he cloaked himself in self-hatred and tried to get himself into the mindset that he needed to to be able to do this. He was going to have to rewind his biological clock a bit, he knew. He was going to have to go back to the person he was before.

He was going to have to revert back to the person he was in Sixth Year. Forged in hatred and driven by fear. The boy who would have killed for the chance at survival. The boy whose choices had led him to the very place he was standing in right now. The boy who would have become a Death Eater at any cost.

Draco would never hurt Hermione. _That_ boy would.

The Floo roared to life exactly at 5:30. He didn't turn, even though his heart was pounding and his skin was hot. He heard her setting her briefcase down, followed by the _click_ of her heels on the mantle. She said nothing.

The air in the room was stretched so taut with tension that he feared the entire house would shatter when it broke.

"I owled my mother," he said, his Occlusion so heavy and powerful that he didn't recognize the coolness of his own voice. "She sent a House Elf to take Crookshanks for the night."

"Okay," she said, her voice small.

"You've agreed to no safe word, correct?"

"Why do I have to say it again?"

He unbuttoned his cufflinks with agitated movements.

"I mean," she said, clearing her throat. "Yes. No safe word."

"No safe word . . . ?"

Silence. Then, "No safe word, sir."

Draco rolled his right sleeve up to his elbow. He then unbuttoned his other cufflink and rolled that sleeve up. When he finally turned around to face her, his hands working to loosen and undo his tie, she was still standing at the mantle. She offered him a small smile.

He did not return it.

"Take off your shoes and clothes," he said as though he were asking her to water the flowers in the front yard. "And tell me what happened in your nightmare from beginning to end."

"Before or after I take them off?" she asked, stuttering slightly and wringing her hands in front of her.

"During."

"O-Okay." She gulped, and then leaned down to unbuckle her shoes. "Well, f-first, I was-"

"Don't stammer."

She closed her mouth, giving him a shocked look, and then nodded.

"Sorry, sir. I . . ." She closed her eyes for a moment and dropped one shoe onto the ground. Then, she unbuckled the second one. "Well, from what I remember, the dream started with me at school on that Valentine's. I put on the pink dress and went down to the Great Hall. I talked to my friends, and then I sat down to eat."

Draco tracked her movements with his eyes as she reached behind her to unzip her high-waisted pencil skirt. He tried to imagine everything she said, even though he didn't want to. He knew he had to. How else was he supposed to reenact something he'd never seen before?

"Then, the dream changed, and I-" She stopped, her skirt dropping to the floor and leaving her in a blazer, silk blouse, and knickers. "-I was in my dorm room for some reason. It was dark outside. I don't know why. I was reading a book in my bed. And then someone cast a hex on the door. Richter and Poe burst in and before I knew what was happening, they _accio_ ed my wand and broke it."

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets and watched her shrug out of her blazer.

"That was when they . . ." She closed her mouth, and Draco didn't have the heart to force her to speak faster. He was going to do this because she asked him to, but he wasn't going to be one hundred percent about it. "That was when they attacked me. They pinned me down with charms and . . ."

She stood there in her undergarments, frowning and wringing her hands again.

"Why did you stop talking?" he said, taking a step closer.

Her head hung. "Please don't make me describe it."

He narrowed his eyes. There was no safe word and she was expecting him to go too far, but he didn't have to be _cruel_.

"Go to the bedroom, close the door, lay down, and start reading."

Her brow furrowed. "Are you-are you serious? You want me to _read_?"

He stared at her until she realized he was serious.

 _This is such a fucking bad idea,_ he thought before his Occlusion filled in the empty spaces rebellion caused.

Hermione walked slowly down the hall, turning to glance at him when her hand closed around the doorknob. She worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"Are you going to destroy the door? Because it's original-"

"Hermione," he growled, cutting her off. "If you don't-"

"Okay, okay! Sorry!" she said, pushing the door open and quickly shutting herself inside the room.

Draco sighed and turned to look out the window again. He gazed out at the houses across the street, the orange glow of the late afternoon sunlight casting an eerie pallor to his perception of the world right now.

He was already messing this up. He was being too mean, and it wasn't even believable. In some ways, he was being even meaner than he'd been in Third Year.

The truth was that Draco didn't think he _could_ go back to being that person. Because even if he hated himself, he wasn't the same person anymore. He wasn't naive enough to give into the sort of darkness that caused him to hurt other people. And with what Hermione was wanting, he just couldn't do it that way.

_Fuck, this is probably why Rosair was interrogating me._

He needed to rethink this.

How could he help Hermione with a traumatic reenactment without having to traumatize himself in the process? How could he give her what he wanted without putting them both in a worse position? She was giving him _complete_ control, which in some ways was something he'd wanted for a while. But not because he wanted to _hurt_ her or _force_ her to do anything. Because he loved her and wanted to show her as many times as he . . .

A light flickered on in his brain.

He knew what to do.

Turning with renewed determination running through his veins, he strolled down the hallway to the bedroom. He opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him.

On the bed, Hermione was laying with her back against the pillows. True to what he'd requested, there was a book open in her hands. She turned a page with fingers that trembled and she looked up at him. They stared at each other for a second.

"We're not going to do this the way you wanted to," he said, removing his button-up shirt with slow, measured movements. He held her gaze. "We're going to do this my way."

"Your way?" she asked, setting the book on her bedside table. "Because-"

"Lay down on your back and scoot to the edge of the bed."

She blinked, remaining frozen.

"I won't ask you twice, Granger. Lay the fuck down."

Quick as a flash, she scrambled away from the pillows and laid horizontally across the mattress. As she did, Draco stalked toward her side of the bed. He removed his belt, the metal clanking loudly in the charged silence. Now that he'd figured out the proper way to do this, his heart wasn't beating quite so fast anymore.

He felt more in control than ever before.

Draco gazed down at her, his gaze drinking in the sight of her. Her long curls, splayed out over the gold coverlet. Her breast, spilling out of the cups of her lace brassiere. The sheerness of her knickers. The warm, olive tone of her skin. The mingling apprehension and curiosity in her eyes.

"Do you know how much I have to love you to actually consider doing that to you?" he said, taking the buckle of his belt and pulling it out of his belt loops in small increments. "Do you know how sick it made me to even think of it?"

She hesitated and then said, "Yes."

"I should punish you for asking me."

Something darkened in her eyes. "I-y-yes. You should."

Standing there, shirtless and in only his trousers, he folded the belt in half. He saw her gaze flicker over to it. He knew she didn't like the belt. It was in their first contract, the one they'd written five years ago. No pain caused by inanimate objects, no choking, no edging, and no suffocation.

But she'd waived all of her limits yesterday.

"You gave me one hundred percent control, didn't you?" he murmured, holding the folded belt with both hands.

"Yes, I . . . But . . ." She winced. "Are you gonna use that?"

He almost asked her if she was revoking her consent, but then he remembered. No safe word. No limits.

_Why can't you prove it?_

"You gave me all the control," he purred. "So roll over, put your hands on the bed by your head, and start counting."

It took a few seconds, but she did. He could see how hard she was shaking, but it didn't stop him. He began to lash her bottom with the belt, gritting his teeth harder with each number she spoke. Her voice, which had started out strong, began to waver. Her backside turned red with welts.

She turned her head at one point, saying his name. He halted for one moment. He knew her well enough by now. This was where she'd use her safe word.

Indecision flashed across her face and then she closed her eyes and whispered, "T-Twelve."

The one and only other time that they'd used the belt, she'd barely made it to five. He averted his eyes for a second. It wasn't that he didn't _like_ doing this, because he did. He very much did. The issue was that he didn't like doing things that other people didn't like.

But for Hermione to nearly say her safe word, and then stop herself, and to do everything he'd asked so far, he had to hope that it was going to be beneficial. He had to hope that this was going to work.

He gave her five more lashes, and then stopped. She lay there, bent over the bed, and didn't look at him. He knelt down behind her and placed his hands over the welts, moving his fingers over them. He caressed her with tender circular movements, pressing kisses to the base of her spine as he did so.

Because this was like any other session with her, just with different rules, he asked, "Are you good to keep going?"

"Yes," she said after a shaky breath. Then, she started to lift up on her hands. "I'm actually . . . Surprisingly okay. I-"

"Down," he said, his voice as cold as ice.

He placed one hand on the center of her back and pushed down until her elbows gave out. He held her there. Then, without missing a beat, the fingers of his other hand searched between her legs. He knew with the juxtaposition of a soft touch and the stinging of the welts, she would be wet. She was.

"I thought you didn't like the belt," he said, his tone cajoling. "Seems like you lied."

"I didn't l-lie," she said, her breath catching. "I don't l-like pain."

"Are you sure? Because it seems like you do."

A gasp left her lips when he found the spot he knew would make her keen and began to stroke it with slow, barely-there motions. Her hips bucked backwards and she moaned into the blanket. As he worked her to the edge of oblivion, his hand slid up her back and sunk into her curls. He cupped the back of her head.

Then, right as she began to grind down to meet the cadence of his forefingers, he pushed her head into the blanket and held it there. She didn't panic, like Draco thought she would. Instead, she went rigid and let out a groan as an orgasm wracked her body almost instantaneously. Almost like she'd been expecting him to do this.

Almost like she'd been hoping he would.

"You liked that?" he said, half-surprised and half-intrigued. Lifting her head up, he listened to her sucked in her breaths. Keeping up the movements of his fingers between her thighs, he repeated himself. "I asked you if you liked it, Granger."

She didn't say anything. She just laid there, the ghosts of convulsions rippling through her muscles. He used his hands to gather up some of her wetness and bring it back to her pearl. She let out a loud cry and twisted her hips.

"Wait," she said. "It's too-"

" _Hush_ ," he ordered, curling his fingers tightly into her hair. "I'll say when it's too much, won't I?"

She whimpered, her hips twisting again. She started to close her thighs. He let go of her hair and used the now-free hand to clench the flesh of her inner thigh. His fingers never slowed their movements. His blood began to heat to a boil when he saw the way her body reacted. The way she continually tried to inch forward or up, trying to get away. The way her fingers clawed gently at the blanket. The way she buried her own face into the blanket and muffled her heavy breathing with the fabric.

When she came again, she put her hands on the back of her own head and whimpered desperately. Draco knew she wanted to use her safe word. He could see it in the way her knuckles were turning white. He loved this witch and knew her like the back of his own hand.

But she didn't. She maintained control by letting him have it all.

He slipped his fingers into her core and continued.

"Please," she groaned, sounding faint and delirious. "Please, please, please stop. It's too much."

"No," he said in a cajoling tone. Behind the walls of his Occlusion, he could feel himself fracturing like shale, wanting desperately to take her into his arms and care for her until she was all right again. But he couldn't. "You're doing so well."

"Draco," she wailed when he twisted his fingers inside of her and moved them fast and hard. His other hand never once ceased its circular motions. He felt her hips jerking again and again. "Please. I'm _begging_ you. It's too much!"

"Not until you come again," he said, leaning down to kiss the base of her spine. "Be a good girl and come for me again."

"Please, just . . . Your mouth," she said, her words coming out in a strangled moan. Her hand slapped down on the blanket. "Gods, please. Your mouth."

He obliged, withdrawing his hands and rolling her over. She was as boneless as a ragdoll, even as she crawled backwards so he could get onto the bed, too. Before she had even finished lying back down, his head was between her quivering legs, devouring her in exactly the way he knew she liked. She screamed within moments, pulsing against his tongue as she came a third time.

Still, he kept going.

Her back arched up and she sobbed. She begged. She pleaded. Her legs fell open wider than he'd ever seen them, her hips rolling along waves of a sea of pain and pleasure. Draco ignored her, except when she tried to grab him by the hair. When she did that, his response was to suckle at the apex of her core until she shattered again.

When her whimpers fell silent, he realized that she'd fainted. Finally, he stopped and moved up her body, feathering kisses all over her face and down the sides of her neck. He tasted the sweat on her skin, hovering over her so that his hands could stroke her sides and her breasts in the way she usually liked to be touched when she blacked out like this.

Her eyelids fluttered open when his mouth closed over the peak of her left breast through her bra. She moaned and writhed beneath him, pushing herself closer to his mouth. Her fists clenched by her head and her feet slid against the sheets to either side of his body.

"Are you all right?" he murmured between kisses and licks to her sternum.

"Why d-do you bother asking?" she asked, her teeth chattering and body twitching. "I s-said no s-safe word."

"Because I love you," he cooed, running his tongue across the lace covering her other breast.

He felt her hand coming to rest on the back of his head, sifting through his messy hair. She held him in place, so he continued to taste her. Soon, she was gasping again, her hips rolling upward over and over. He felt her arousal sliding across the skin of his torso where she was grinding.

"Hermione," he breathed, his entire body on fire. His hands smoothed down to the insides of her thighs. He held her legs open wide enough so that every movement made her bare flesh touch his. When she ground her hips upward, he moved with her.

"What?" she moaned.

"I'm gonna fuck you from behind," he said, looking up at her with a molten-hot gaze.

She grimaced. "M-More?"

"So much more."

He turned her over, his hands still feeling every inch of her satin-smooth skin. He stopped for a second, so he could unbutton his straining trousers and shift his pants downward. When he slid inside of her, his eyes rolled up into his head. She'd never been this wet before. It was Heaven.

It was Heaven, and he hated himself.

"You're so fucking wet," he groaned as he began to move in and out of her. "You feel so, so good. Such a good girl."

She didn't respond. She was moaning, deep and guttural at the pit of her chest. It was like he was pushing the noises out of her body so his ears could consume them. They made chills run along his skin.

He sat up on his knees, pulling her hips up into the air, and without warning, began to fuck her as hard and deep as he wanted to. It was deeper inside of her than he'd ever been and he knew it had to be intense. By the way she was crying out, and the way her entire body was trembling, he knew he was right.

The closer he spiraled to orgasm, the less control he maintained over himself. It felt like he'd transcended to a completely different area of space. An area where the stars all looked the same. The same color. The same size.

He was lost.

Draco leaned forward, placed one hand flat on the bed, and wrapped the other around the front of her throat. He pressed his fingers into the sides of it, squeezing as hard as he knew he could without hurting her. He continued to slam into her,

"So fucking good. So, so fucking perfect," he snarled through his teeth. "And mine. All mine, aren't you?"

"Yours," she sobbed. "I'm all yours, Draco."

"Gonna give me one more, sweet girl?" He began to touch her again, fast and slick, squeezing his hand even harder. "Come on. Give me one more."

"I can't do it. I can't. I can't, I can't, I-"

Her hips jerked violently as she came again, and she screamed curse words into the blanket. He felt her muscles clenching tightly around him, almost forcing him out of her body. His climax hurtled towards him as fast as a shooting star, leaving him seeing spots and shivering. He collapsed on her body, wrapping his arms around her waist and lying down on his side.

They laid there, both panting for breath and covered in sweat.

"Never again," she whispered. "Never. Again."

Draco closed his eyes, feeling her words ripping his soul in two. "Okay."

"Please let me go."

"Okay."

He slipped out of her body and rolled onto his back, combing his damp hair backward. Without a word to him, she got off of the bed and stumbled out of the room. He heard the bathroom door lock and the shower start running.

She cried so loudly that he wanted to die.

* * *

_Thursday, November 7th_

They didn't speak for a week.

Draco slept on the couch. She hadn't asked him to, but he'd exiled himself there because he deserved it. He'd done less than what she'd asked, but it had still been too much. She'd asked him to go too far, and it had been too much for her. He'd known it was a bad idea. He'd known.

Was it Healer Rosair's fault? No. It couldn't be. She didn't know the type of relationship he and Hermione had. As far as she knew, they had vanilla sex in missionary. Judging by how shy Hermione had gotten during that last appointment, Draco knew there was no way Rosair knew about the contract. So when she'd suggested they do a "traumatic reenactment," Draco had a feeling she'd had something less ridiculous in mind.

Now, it was time for the next appointment. Hermione hadn't asked him to come, but he was going anyway. Hermione deserved for him to be held accountable, and she deserved for him to see this through with her. He heard her screaming every night, still having night terrors. He heard her crying into the early morning, and he had no idea if it was because of Richter and Poe, because of him, or because of her own emotions.

Draco hated himself more than anything. When he thought of himself, he thought he was not only the most repulsive piece of Thestral shite, but he thought he was a plague. He was making Hermione sick. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be suffering right now.

He cried in the shower for four days in a row.

When she got home from work the day of the appointment, she didn't look at him. She did speak, though, and she sounded like a ghost.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," he said, setting Crookshanks down on the couch so he could stand up.

He withdrew his wand and charmed the kneazle fur away. Then, he strolled towards her and stood in front of her. She looked up at him, seeming to see past him. It looked like she was tired and sad. He held his hand out to her and she took it.

When they DisApparated, he felt her squeeze his fingers.

* * *

"It didn't work."

The words flew out of Hermione's lips before anyone had even sat down.

Healer Rosair took her seat and stared at the two of them in surprise. "All right, why don't you tell me a little bit about what happened. Hermione, why don't you start."

As Draco settled back on the couch, as far away from Hermione as he could get, he listened in astonishment as Hermione told Rosair the truth in a flat, monotone voice.

"Draco and I have a sexual relationship that is somewhat different from a normal one. He is the dominant one, and I am submissive to him. It started with the Cupere, and we've been together ever since. We made a contract when we first started dating to ensure that no one's boundaries were crossed and both of our needs were met. For the traumatic reenactment, we put the contract on hold. It was overwhelming and it did not work."

Rosair didn't seem perturbed. She merely looked at Draco. "Do you have anything you'd like to express, Draco?"

He averted his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. "She's telling the truth. When you told us to have her give up control, it was a little . . . _More_ than what you were probably thinking. I went too far."

Hermione interjected. "I told him to go too far. I thought that's what I wanted."

"And you didn't want that?" Rosair said.

When Hermione whispered _no_ , Draco felt his eyes pricking with needling tears. He wanted to cry.

Again.

"Okay," Rosair said, sighing. "Okay, that is completely my fault. And if I had known that was the sort of arrangement you had, I would not have suggested a traumatic reenactment. I do apologize for that, and if you want to cancel our sessions, that is completely understandable. You have every right to feel betrayed by me, if that's the case. I should have inquired further."

"No, that's all right," Hermione said. "It's not your fault. I didn't ask enough questions. I-we didn't think it through."

Draco continued to glare at the wall.

"Well, how about we dive into what happened?" Rosair said. "And you don't have to give me details. Just tell me how it all made you feel. Tell me what sorts of emotions came to the-you know, the surface." She gestured to her chest. "What did you feel coming up?"

"Fear, mostly," Hermione said. "I didn't like losing total control of my body. It made me feel helpless and like I was under the influence of the Cupere again. It made the night terrors more vivid, and made it hard for me to . . ." She trailed off, and it was silent for a bit.

In a bitter voice, Draco said, "It made it hard for her to trust me, I'm sure."

He felt their eyes on him, but he didn't look away from the wall.

"Draco, how did you feel during this experience?" Rosair asked. "Did you feel fear, or anger? Perhaps sadness?"

_I feel like a worthless, revolting monster._

_I feel like I don't deserve her._

_I feel like I should be thrown in Azkaban for enjoying it._

"Like shite," he said, fixing Rosair with a frosty stare. "It made me feel like shite."

"You know . . ." Rosair crossed one leg over the other, a thoughtful, troubled expression on her face. "I wanna talk a little bit about that. I want to dive into that."

"Tch." Draco sneered and looked away again. "There's nothing really to talk about. Your method didn't work. So, we need to try a different one."

"Draco," Hermione said, sounding exasperated. "Don't be rude."

He felt a sudden surge of anger inside of him, but he kept his mouth sewn shut.

"Draco, why don't you tell me a little bit about why you and Hermione have this agreement put in place," Rosair said, pressing on as though she couldn't sense the poor mood in the room. "Do you feel like you can do that?"

Draco scowled. "What is there to tell? I like to fuck her like she belongs to me. She likes belonging to me. It's a power exchange. We made a contract so that we could ensure no one got hurt. We set that contract aside for one day, and she got hurt. I feel like shite because of it. That's all there is to it."

" _Draco_!" Hermione cried. " _Please_!"

Rosair held a hand up. "It's all right, Hermione. It's healthy for Draco to be able to express himself exactly the way he wants to."

Draco shifted in his seat, a bit uncomfortable at how validating that sounded to hear that. But he didn't like how this session was becoming about him.

"Look, I'm here to support my witch," Draco said. "I don't really want to talk about me."

"Why?" Rosair asked.

"Because it's not about me."

"Isn't it, though?"

Draco gave her an incredulous look. "Are you mental?"

"Draco, for Merlin's sake," Hermione said, dropping her head into her hands. "You have _got_ to get your temper under control! What's the matter with you?"

He turned the incredulity in her direction. "What?"

"It's been _months_ of this! Ever since you lost your job, I've had to walk on eggshells around you to make sure you don't completely fall apart!"

Draco's jaw hung open. " _What_?!"

Hermione cried, "You think you're good at hiding your emotions, but you wear them on your sleeve, and you always have! Ever since you were a kid, it was _painfully_ clear to read you. And I can read you even better now. I know when something's wrong with you. I know when you're not all right! And I have been doing _everything_ I can to be supportive!" She began to count on her fingers. "I haven't pressured you about a job, I've encouraged you to explore hobbies, I've been supportive even when things don't go your way, liek with the soup . . ."

"What, so you want me to get a fucking job?" he snarled, his elbow on the couch arm and his temple resting against his fist. "You want me to be some little Golden Boy who can go out and get any job he wants?"

" _No_!" she shrieked. " _I just want you to stop pretending to be happy!"_

Draco closed his eyes against the sudden wave of emotion that overcame him.

_I guess I'm not good at hiding things at all._

In the ringing silence, Rosair said, "I think it's clear that the reason why the traumatic reenactment was ineffective is because there are underlying issues here."

"No shit, Salazar," Draco muttered.

Rosair paused and then went on, "I think for now, it would be best that we spend the rest of the session revisiting the other options. There is a potion that-"

"Wait," Hermione said, still looking at Draco. "I really believe in the reenactment. I really do. I just think we went about it wrong, and . . . I think I have just been harboring a lot of feelings that I needed to get out."

"I'm glad you feel better now," Draco said, his tone snide.

Hermione sighed. "Draco . . . Don't be like that."

Draco shook his head. He was feeling overwhelmed now. This appointment was becoming about him, and he didn't want it to be. He hadn't even wanted to do the stupid reenactment. He'd wanted to listen to the other options. And even after it had gone so horribly, she was still wanting to make it work. She wanted to do it _again_.

Why did she even want to be with him?

"Let's just settle down for a moment," Rosair said, holding up both hands. "I think emotions are running high right now and you're both feeling overwhelmed in your own ways. Can we agree that both of your feelings are valids, and find some way to come to a compromise?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

Draco rested his temple against his fist again. "Yeah."

"Okay, so . . . Here's what I think is going on," Rosair said. I think that you both want the other to be happy, and it's causing you to forgo your own needs. That's something that needs to be addressed. In Hermione's case, she has a recent trauma that has compounded and become something that is affecting her mental health. In your case, Draco, you've got a lingering trauma that has been affecting not only your mental health, but your personality and interpersonal relationship with Hermione. Do you two agree with that assessment?"

Hermione and Draco looked at one another and then nodded. He wasn't shocked that Rosair had that to say about him, especially since the details of his crimes and interactions with the Dark Lord were public record.

The Healer continued, "I think that the loss of control is counteractive to your healing, Hermione. I think what you need is to _have_ control. Now, typically in sexual therapy-which I know you aren't here for-a therapist might ask the person who is normally more dominant to switch and become the more submissive one. But I think the two of you have a different definition for those words."

"Um," Hermione said, "you would be correct."

"Right, so . . ." Rosair cleared her throat. "In that vein, can I suggest something that may be a bit radical?"

"Sure," Draco said.

"Perhaps you could try switching? Draco, maybe you could consent to being the submissive one for one night, and letting Hermione take over? She would have full control of her body that way, and she'd experience a little bit about what it's like to walk in your shoes. In this way, you can simulate an empathetic bond with one another. And maybe, if you two can strengthen your bond, it will help with the night terrors. Because if the night terrors are new, and Draco losing his job is also new, they may be connected."

Draco bit his tongue before he asked her if she'd lost her damn mind. The _last_ thing he wanted to do was lose the only thing he'd ever had of his own in his entire life. It terrified him. It would make him feel helpless.

But the way Hermione perked up made his heart wrench. If she wanted it, then he was going to give it to her. No matter how hard it was.

"Maybe you don't need to _give up_ your control, Hermione," Rosair finished. "Maybe you can find your power the same way that Draco does-in _taking_ control."

Draco could feel himself starting to panic. It made sense. It made perfect sense.

But he was scared.

"I love it," Hermione said, sounding a lot less sad than she had the past week. "I think it's a great idea. Draco, what do-Draco?"

"Fuck." He tilted his head up towards the ceiling. His vision was swimming, full to the brim with tears. He knew he was freaking out and overreacting, but he didn't know what to do to stop it. "Forgive me. I'm sorry."

Hermione slid closer to him on the couch and placed a sympathetic hand upon his arm. Rosair pulled a tissue out of a box on her desk and brought it to him.

Draco felt even more humiliated. He'd only cried in front of Hermione once: the first time they'd slept together. He didn't like looking weak in any way, shape, or form. He didn't like _feeling_ weak either, and the ache in his throat and sting in his eyes made him feel just that.

"Draco," Rosair said, her voice gentle and full of compassion. "Why don't you tell us what's going through your head?"

He clenched his teeth. The words were creeping up out of his body. He couldn't stop them.

"I . . . Want to . . . To just not be alive anymore." A tear rolled down his cheek and he took a deep, shuddering breath. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit hoarse. "And it's taking everything I have in me to stay. I don't know why. I don't know how to fix it. I just think I'm worthless to everyone, and there's nothing that will fix it. I don't have a job. I'm not good at anything. I hurt people. I-"

"Draco," Hermione said, her voice breaking. "That's not true. You're so good at a lot of things. And even if you were awful at doing everything, that wouldn't mean you don't deserve to live."

He looked at her through tear-blurred vision. "I don't know why you want to be with me."

Her face fell and she took on a crestfallen disposition. Her eyes filled with tears, too, and she reached up to wipe his away from his cheeks with her thumbs.

"I want to be with you for the rest of my life, Draco," she said quietly, her voice twisted with emotion. "But I don't want to be the reason you stay alive. I just want you to _want_ to stay alive."

"Draco, it's all right to feel this way," Rosair said. "There's nothing wrong with you for feeling down and out about where you're at in life. You're very young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Things get tough sometimes and when they do, it's important to remember that sometimes, even though our best doesn't seem like much, it's what we can give. One thing my father always used to say to me was that if a rich man gives his fortune away, it's equal to a poor man giving his last pound. He meant Muggle money, but it applies to the wizarding world, too. You woke up today. You wake up every day, and you breathe. And if that's your best right now, that's okay. We can work on the rest later."

"And it's okay to cry," Hermione said, more tears falling.

"Yeah?" Draco's voice cracked.

"Yeah."

Heedless of the fact that they were in front of another person, Draco leaned forward and fell into Hermione's arms on the couch. She pressed her hand against the back of his head and circled his shoulders with her other arm. He slipped his arms around her waist and wept silently into the crook of her neck and shoulder. It felt good to cry, even if it didn't solve any of his problems or eradicate any of his self-hatred.

"You've been through more pain than any person should have to go through," Hermione said in a soft voice. "But that's behind you, okay? All you have to do now is keep trying. Just stay with me and keep trying."

"Why don't I give you some privacy for a few minutes?" Rosair said, standing up. "I'll come back, and then we can wrap up."

She walked away, and the door closed a second later.

Hermione curled her legs up onto the couch and held Draco tighter. "Why didn't you tell you were feeling this way?"

"I didn't want to disappoint you," Draco whispered, feeling drained and embarrassed.

"You haven't disappointed me." She sniffled. "In fact, I'm prouder of you than I think I ever have been. And I want to help you. Will you let me?"

Draco closed his eyes. "Always."

"I think things will get better," she said. "And I think you should start seeing Healer Garrison again. Or, if you don't want to, maybe you can see Healer Rosair by yourself?"

He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but then stopped himself.

Rosair had only seen him in a few of Hermione's sessions, and she'd already sensed that Draco was struggling. In one session of a few questions, she'd managed to get him to divulge his biggest secret. That was either a really good Mind Healer, or she was just the perfect fit for him.

And he did want things to get better. _He_ wanted to get better. He wanted to stop pretending to be happy. He wanted to be able to smile the way Hermione did, and he wanted to be able to live a life with her that was free of self-loathing and sadness. He wanted it so bad that it almost hurt.

"Okay," he said. "I'll think about it."

"That's good," she said. "And-"

The door swung open and Rosair crept back in.

"Is it okay to wrap up now?"

"Oh, yes!" Hermione let go of Draco and scooted over a smidgeon, her hand falling to wrap around his again. "I think we've learned a lot and have a good plan now."

When she stood up, Draco stood with her, hanging his head. Next week, he'd decide if he wanted to see Rosair by himself. For now, he felt too mortified to even look at her. He just held Hermione's hand and stared at the carpet.

"So, have you decided to try my new suggestion?" Rosair asked, smiling in encouragement.

"Yes, I think we'll try it," Hermione said. "Won't we, Draco?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Oh, good," Rosair said. "Give it a try, and remember to stop immediately if it becomes too overwhelming. I think I said that last week, but I didn't stress the importance of it. Even if there's a safe word, a contract, or lack thereof, if it becomes too overwhelming, _please_ stop immediately and we can discuss it next week."

They said their good-byes, Draco promised Rosair that he would let her know about an appointment for himself, and then they left. They skipped going to the restaurant this week, choosing instead to go home and cuddle on the couch with Crookshanks and a tub of ice cream that Hermione swore he'd love.

He ate the entire thing and she let him sleep in the bed again.

* * *

_Sunday, November 10th_

They decided to do it sooner rather than later.

Draco couldn't take the anxiety of waiting, so he insisted that they go over the "new" contract the day before, just like they had for Hermione the week before. He wrote something up while she was at work on Friday. It ended up taking him more than a couple of hours because he'd never stopped to think about what his boundaries might _be_. He'd _always_ been the dominant one.

He didn't think he had many limits, but he knew for certain he didn't want to be hurt, even if he felt he deserved it. So, that meant no lashings, no slapping or blows, and nothing was to be _inserted_ into himself. Aside from that, he was fairly certain that he was okay with anything else she thought up. He didn't think she was going to come up with anything wild since it was her first time, but she was the most intelligent witch he knew.

For a safe word, he chose Nimbus. When Hermione had written her contract when they'd first gotten together, she'd written that she liked it when he called her "good girl" and asked her to "come for him," so Draco had to spend a few minutes thinking about what he'd like her to say to him. He thought of a few statements until one made him blush. He wrote that one down and then left the contract on the table to wait for them to go over it.

Now, it was Sunday, and Hermione was out shopping with some friends.

She'd told him that she'd be back later in the afternoon, and then she wanted him to be ready and wearing his trackies. He was _wholly_ unsurprised that she gave orders so easily, but he wasn't complaining. It was nice having something to look forward to, even if it was just making sure he was dressed the way she wanted him to be.

He showered, fixed his hair so that it was the sort of tousled mess that she liked, and put on some cologne. Then, he sat on the couch and turned on the telly.

When Hermione returned home, Draco was so nervous that he felt like he couldn't breathe. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to make it through this the way she hoped. What if he panicked, or worse? What if he cried again?

She stepped out of the Floo, walked straight to the tell, and turned it off. Her hair was straight today, worn in luxurious waves that flowed down to the small of her back. It was clear that she'd gone to a hairdressers, because it looked a bit richer in color than normal.

She turned around to face him, putting her hands on his hips. His gaze roved down the length of her body, seeing that she was clad in a tight, black dress that zipped up the front and had short sleeves. It was definitely not something a Pureblood witch would wear, but he didn't mind.

"You look-"

"Beautiful, I know," she said. "Crawl towards me."

He blinked, his cheeks already growing warm. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She smirked. "Get on your knees and crawl towards me. Slowly."

Draco's jaw tightened and he glanced at Crookshanks, who was asleep beside him. He supposed he should have owled his mother again this week, too.

"Draco," Hermione said, her tone a warning.

With a scowl, Draco slid to the floor and got to his hands and knees. Keeping his gaze on the carpet, he did as she asked. When her high heels came into view, he stopped.

"Take off my dress," she said, her hands not moving from her hips.

He started to stand, but she shook her head and pointed to the floor with her pointer finger. Sighing, he raised up only on his knees, coming face-to-face with her torso. Gripping the silver zipper, he tugged it downward. When the emerald green satin brassiere came into view, he looked up at her with one brow raised.

The honey brown of her eyes glittered. "Keep going. I want it all the way off."

He unzipped her the rest of the way, and then let his fingers graze her skin as he pushed the open sides off of her shoulders. When he stood in front of her in a complete set of green lingerie, her long hair cascading down her body, he lost his breath.

_Sweet fucking Salazar._

"Make me come."

He blinked, shaking his head, and then looked up at her. "What?"

Curling one knuckle underneath his chin, she leaned down to give him a soft kiss on the lips. When she pulled back, she smiled.

"Don't make me repeat myself. Figure it out."

Something about the way she said the words-the boldness and the confidence in them-made something shift and twist in his abdomen. Without argument, he gripped her rear and pulled her forward. She stumbled, putting her hands on top of his head to steady herself and he nuzzled his nose into the heat of her. The knickers were soft against his lips and the scent of her arousal was intoxicating.

He forgot all about the circumstances and groaned.

"You smell so good," he breathed.

She sighed when his tongue snaked out to taste her through her knickers, soaking the fabric more than she already had. Her fingers curled in his hair and she tugged on it gently, sending a thrill through him. He pushed his face closer.

Even though the curtains were drawn, Draco liked the fact that they were doing this in the living room, right in front of the telly. He was already feeling his blood begin to simmer. So far, he felt okay with the way things were going.

This was okay.

Soon, she was moving her hips to meet his strokes, soft sounds escaping her throat. In one swift movement, he moved the fabric aside, slipped his fingers up inside of her body, and lapped at the place he knew would make her see stars.

"Draco," she moaned. "Draco, I'm already c-coming."

He moaned, too, suckling at her until she pitched forward over his head and rode his tongue until she came. Shivers rippled along her muscles and she whispered his name one more time.

Draco kissed his way up her stomach, across her satin-covered breasts, and up her neck to her ear. When his lips covered her own and their tongues met, she threw herself into the kiss with fervor and desire. Standing on tip-toe, she wrapped her arms around his neck and snogged him until he was gripping her bottom and pulling her against him so he could feel her as close as possible.

Hermione pulled away, her lips swollen and cheeks flushed, and she pointed to the couch.

"Sit down."

He walked backwards and sat on the couch. Hermione followed him and sank to her knees before him. She wasted no time pulling his trackies down and began to massage him through his pants. His head fell onto the back of the couch the moment she reached inside and pulled him out.

Draco groaned when he felt her mouth enveloping him, and he looked down at her. She was so beautiful and even though he never forgot that, it was like he was seeing her in a new light. With her being in control like this, it felt like she more herself now than she'd been in a long time. And he could tell that she enjoyed this. It was clear by the sounds of approval she was humming, and the enthusiastic way she was pleasuring him.

"Hermione," he moaned, his hips moving up and down. "Hermione, I'm close."

She pulled away, held him tightly, and looked him directly in the eye.

"Wait until I tell you to."

He nearly sobbed. Of course. Of _course_ she would choose this. He could feel his heart trying to crawl up out of his throat, his pulse pounding in the circle of her hands. His thighs were quivering, shaking with the strength it was taking to keep himself from thrusting upwards.

"Again?" she said, raising one eyebrow.

He nodded, and she pulled him into her mouth once more. The feelings intensified, and he threw his head back on the back of the couch. His fingers clenched on the cushions beside him. His hips drove upward and he hit the back of her throat.

Crookshanks continued to sleep.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he moaned. "Fuck. I'm gonna-gonna-"

She pulled away and once again, squeezed him until his heart beat calmed. He could feel his thigh muscles aching from how hard he was trying to keep himself from coming. His skin was red all over and his eyes were rolled up into his head. He felt like he was hovering between dizziness and clarity.

Hermione repeated the actions more times than he could count. Until his chest was heaving and his toes were curling in the carpet. He couldn't think. He could hardly breathe.

"Please," he whispered, his head lolling as he looked down into her eyes with desperation. "Please, please just let me come."

"No," she said, and she was smiling.

"Fuuuck," he practically whined, jamming the heels of his palms over his eyes. "You're- _oh, my-fuck_ , Hermione!"

She covered him with her mouth again, attacking him with renewed fervor. Her tongue was everywhere, tasting every inch of him until he thought he might pass out. His mind went spinning out of orbit.

"Gods, Gods, please," he begged, dragging his hands down his face. He watched her head bob up and down. "Hermione, please. I'll do anything. Any-fucking-thing."

"Not yet," she said, and she let go of him.

He almost let out a groan of dismay until she stood up and removed her knickers. Fresh blood rushed down to his loins when she smirked and straddled him.

"You want to be inside of me?" she asked in the same sweet voice she'd used with him the first time they'd slept together. "You want me to be in control?"

He couldn't take his eyes off of her lower body. "Yes."

She lowered herself onto him and as she did so, she held his face between her hands. When their eyes met, his half-lidded in bliss, he realized that he wasn't feeling as panicked as he thought he would. In fact, he felt calmer than he had in weeks. And when she began to lift up and down atop him, pulling him right back up the mountain, he didn't think he would mind if they did this again.

"I'm gonna make you come, aren't I?" she said.

His blood sang.

It was exactly what he'd written in the contract.

"Yeah." His body relaxed into the couch and he groaned, his eyes rolling up into his head. "You are."

She tipped her head forward, ehr hair forming a curtain around their bodies as she pressed her lips against his. Her tongue slipped in-between his lips and urged his to move with hers. He felt his stomach give a pleasant lurch, and he put his hands on her hips.

"I want you," he said between kisses, "to come on me."

"I'm going to," she groaned, her hips jerking more forcefully. She leaned forward further, speeding up her movements until Draco thought he might lose his mind.

When she came, he felt her body trying to wrangle his own climax out of him. He moaned louder than he ever had, feeling every part of his body coming to life at once. He began to thrust up into her harder, using his feet as anchors on the floor. He could feel it. He was going to-

"No, not yet, not yet, not yet," she said quickly, starting to slow her movements. "I want to look at you when you do."

His confusion outweighed the torment and he looked up at her. He started to ask her why, but then she started to move again. His words turned into air and he moaned. His eyes started to flutter closed once more, but she wrapped her hand around his chin and shook his head a bit.

"Open your eyes," she ordered as she started to move up and down again. He did, and he became lost in them. "You matter to me, okay? Do you understand that? You matter to me."

He felt the small bit of light he held just for her flaring brighter and brighter. Like a star going supernova, he felt his love for her exploding in his chest right as he hung on the precipice.

"I love you, Draco," she whispered, searching his eyes. "I love you."

Everything.

It was everything he'd been waiting to hear. Everything he didn't think he deserved, and everything he wanted. She was everything.

And she loved him.

He came so hard he saw black spots.

His arms wrapped around her waist and held her tight, his face pillowed between her breasts as he slammed up into her. He rode the orgasm out until he felt the energy leaving his body like an ebbing tide. Panting, they both sagged and remained in the same position. She rested her forehead on his shoulder while he stroked her spine with the tips of his fingers.

"You love me?" he said.

"Of course I do," she said, and then she began to cry. She burst into tears as though she'd been waiting for the chance to, and he felt her enveloping him in her arms. "I've loved you for so long. Longer than you realize."

"Why didn't you tell me before now?"

"I was scared," she said, and she pulled back. Her palms rested on his chest. "I was scared that something was wrong with me, and that night terrors were going to push you away. And the only other person I ever loved treated me so poorly. I was afraid that it was a dream."

"That's what it feels like sometimes," he said, his hands splaying out on her back. "A dream."

She kissed him again and he kissed her back and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the entire world. When he kissed her, it felt like he was a star that had existed until nothing remained of him. He felt like he'd collapsed and pulled Hermione into his heart and held her there. Now, she was a part of him. They both burned.

He couldn't remember how he'd ignited.

"So, have you thought about making the appointment?" Hermione asked later when they were lying in bed. They'd already managed to go for another round and were now naked and exhausted. "The one by yourself?"

"Yes," he said, cautious. "I'm not sure if it will help, but I'm gonna try."

"It will help," she said. "I promise."

"I hope so."

Draco wasn't better. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He still had a pocket of darkness inside of him that felt neverending. Darkness that he thought might suffocate him if it ever got the chance to expand to the edges of his mind. And there were many, many time that he felt like he would rather not be alive

But with Hermione, there was a silver lining to the shadows. There was a chance at happiness that he might not have ever gotten. There was hope and, as long as he just kept waking up every day, the possibility of a future.

He would stay with her, not for her, and keep trying.

While she was getting ready for work the following morning, he went into the bathroom and danced with her.


End file.
